Behind Insanity
by Cainy
Summary: BRUCExJOKER SLASH! The Joker knows Batman's true identity. Now, Bruce must his break his one rule to protect his secret, or find some way get through to the madman before it's too late. Can Bruce see past the make-up and find the man behind the insanity?
1. The Fool

**Behind Insanity**

**.1.**

**The Fool**

_**The Fool Card** in Tarot is the spark that sets everything into motion, the breath that inspires the first steps of the journey towards fulfillment and completion.. It is the cause behind all effects..._

Arkham Asylum was quite possibly the closet thing to Hell on Earth, but even the Joker had to admit, it was the perfect place for gathering one's thoughts. For two months now he behaved himself. There were no escape attempts nor violent outbursts, and he even refrained from mocking his guards and fellow inmates. The guards, who should have been grateful and relieved for the Joker's new change in behavior, instead grew even more leery of him.

There were even stranger changes in the maniac's behavior. The Joker, who had always seemed to be a surprisingly patient man when it came to being locked up, spent each day pacing back and forth in his cell, muttering to himself quietly one moment then erupting into a sudden fit of giggles the next. Sometimes he would stop his pacing and produce a piece of chalk—the only object other than a harmless deck of playing cards he was allowed to keep—from his sleeve and proceeded to scribble nonsensical notes on the walls, floor, and even the ceiling of his cell. To any observer, it would seem as though he had become even more deranged than before.

The Joker stood, chalk in hand, staring at the drawings on the wall that looked like complete gibberish to anyone other than himself. There was a crude stick figure drawing of Rachel Dawes with some childishly drawn flames engulfing her, and another of Harvey Dent with half his face scribbled out. Licking his signature scarred lips, he drew a thick chalk line between the two of figures, then made two more lines pointing to a Batman symbol with a question mark in the middle, to form a triangle.

Something right then and there clicked inside that depraved mind of his, and his painted lips curled into a mischievous smile. He began to laugh to himself, quietly at first, then louder and louder until he was on the floor, holding his sides and rolling around on his back. "Ahahahaha—yes!" He clapped his hands together in sheer delight. "Yes... that must be it! _Ha_!It all makes perfect _sense!_"

After recovering from his hysterics, he crawled back over to the wall and with his sleeve, erased the bat symbol drawing. "_Mmm..._" Joker rose to his feet, combing his fingers through his disheveled green-tinted hair and looked over at the cell door.

"Alright, I've had enough of this place. Time to get outta here and find my Ba_t_."

* * *

The nearly rebuilt Wayne Mansion was silent and peaceful for weeks. Other than the occasional robbery, Batman saw little action nowadays. The Dark Knight's actions over the past months, had forced the remaining mobsters in Gothham into hiding, and struck fear into the hearts of the other petty criminals. Ironically, after the Joker was thrown into Arkham, Batman became the most wanted man in the entire city. Half the police department was out searching for him each night ever since he took the blame for Harvey's killing spree.

Alfred enjoyed this change in pace. For once in a long time he felt like a normal butler again, and not some accomplice to a vigilante who, at night, dressed up like a bat to scare and beat the snot out of criminals. Now, instead of staying up every night, wondering if Bruce would come home alive in the morning, Alfred's biggest concern was deciding which detergent was best for removing stubborn stains.

Peace, however, was short-lived.

That night, as the old butler was folding Bruce's shirts in front of the television, the news came on with a startling report.

_"The streets of Gothham have erupted into chaos this evening as the criminal known only as, 'the Joker,' set off a series of bombs that completely leveled the Gothham City Bank on 42nd street. Everyone inside the bank was able to evacuate before detonation, but fifteen people were reported injured. Earlier today, the Joker escaped from Arkham Asylum, killing three guards in the process..."_

"Oh God..." Alfred watched the screen with a horrified look on his face. He quickly overcame his initial shock, and hurried out of the room to fetch Bruce. "Oh dear God... Master Wayne!"

Bruce was in his weight room, just completing another set of crunches when he heard Alfred calling his name. He sat up, brushing the sweat from his brow with his forearm, and looked up at his butler when he rushed in. He could tell from the look on his old friend's face that something bad must have happened. "Alfred, what's wrong?"

"The Joker..." Alfred trailed off; he didn't know where to begin.

_'The Joker...' _That was all Bruce needed to hear. In an instant he was on his feet, pushing his way past Alfred into the living room to see the news broadcast. What he saw on the television made the blood in his veins turn to ice.

The Joker was on the screen, laughing maniacally as he fired a machine gun through some parked cars on the side of the road. Suddenly, he stopped and turned, noticing that he was being filmed. Slowly, he stalked over to the cameraman. The camera began to shake has the cameraman trembled with fear. "Hi there." The Joker smirked as he drew closer. The cameraman finally gave a cry and ran off, abandoning his camera on the side of the road.

"_Hey—_Where are you going? Hm... I guess he didn't want an interview...Heh heh!" Joker picked up the camera and turned it on his face. He cleared his throat gave the camera his best grin. "Good evening good people of Gothham City. Remember me? Bet you thought you got rid of me, _huh?!_ Well! Sorry to be the barer of bad news, but it won't be that easy. Y'see," he took a moment to lick his lips, "I'm not going _anywhere _unless The Batman comes out of whatever hole he's been hiding in to stop me. So... til then..." He dropped the camera on ground and began stomping on it. The screen roared with static before blacking out completely.

Bruce's face grew hot with rage, and had to turn away from the television. "He's toying with me Alfred! _Toying_ with me!" He thought about his last encounter with the Joker, how the two ferries refused to press the bomb detonator to save their own lives. "I proved to him he was wrong about the people of this city, that they were good people! What else does he want?!"

"You, sir." Alfred frowned. "He wants you. He loves fighting you—he_ lives_ for it."

"Then I'll just have to give him what he wants!" Bruce growled as he stormed off towards the secret entrance of his cave to get suited up into Batman. Their last meeting had left a bitter taste in Bruce's mouth. Though he was able to save countless innocent lives from destruction, he was not able to save Harvey Dent from the Joker's corruption. This time, he would have to get to the clown as soon possible. For every second wasted, put the city in all the more danger.

"Sir..." Alfred stopped him before he reached the lift for the Bat Cave. Something in the old butler's gut told him to stop his master from leaving. But Alfred knew what had to be done; he knew that Batman was the only man on Earth who could put a stop to this monster's path of destruction. "Be careful, sir..."

Bruce turned around and gave him a reassuring smile. "Thank you, Alfred. I will," he said and stepped into the lift. As the metal doors closed in front of him, he added, "Sorry, but I guess you'll be eating dinner alone tonight without me."

Alfred sighed and shook his head. "Heh, just like ol' times..."

* * *

The street was barren and littered with ashes, rubble, and scorched scraps of money. The Joker twirled around in circles, as bits of money sprinkled down on him from the bombed bank vault, like a child dancing in a flurry of snowflakes. He had no use nor desire for money. Money was for the "lower class" of criminals, who pissed themselves in fear at the very mention of Batman's name.

Abruptly, his spinning came to a halt. He looked around impatiently with a groan. "Hmm...This is _boooring_... There's nothing fun to do anymore..." He began to walk down the side of the road, knocking out the windows of cars with the butt of his gun as he passed by them.

Without warning, a dark figure leapt off the top of a building, and came crashing down on him. The force knocked the gun out of his hands, and the Joker onto the pavement. Before he could recover, he was yanked back up by his raggedy green locks to stare face-to-face at a visibly pissed off Batman. "You're late!" He grinned at him before the hero's fist struck him hard in the face. The blow sent him sailing backwards into one of the cars.

Joker held his head and started laughing. "What did I tell you about starting off with the head—" He was cut-off when Batman grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and roughly shoved him back against the car, cracking the side window.

"How did you get out?!" Batman snarled into his face. As usual he had no patience for jokes. In fact, he was sick of the Joker's ceaseless witticism.

The madman continued to giggle, completely ignoring Batman's threatening tone. "Eheheheheh—so you've finally come out to play!"

Hoisting the mad clown off the ground by the collar of his shirt, Batman asked again, this time in a harsher tone. "_How did you escape from Arkham_?!"

Out of reflex, the Joker latched onto Batman's arm to prevent his shirt from ripping. He looked into the other man's brown eyes and smiled darkly. "Well, uh, apparently, I'm _very_ good at faking seizures."

Batman twitched with anger. It wasn't hard to piece together what had happened. The guards probably lost their lives trying to help the lunatic... Those poor men had no idea who they were dealing with or what hit them. That smug look on the Joker's face sickened him. He was actually _proud _of what he did. Teeth grit, he tossed the clown, full-force, into the street so he did not have to look at that painted face of his anymore. "You're scum." He hissed.

The clown hit the ground hard, landing on his back. The fall knocked the wind out of him; for a moment he could hardly breathe. Despite his shortness of breath, he continued to speak in a jeering tone. "You... heh heh... you must've...heh...heh... you must've... _reeeeally _missed me!" He gasped out.

The vigilante narrowed his eyes and stepped towards him. "Why would I miss a freak like you?"

When the larger man advanced towards him, the Joker sat up and began to crawl backwards. "Don't try and tell me you weren't bored without someone like me to rough up. You should be _hugging _me, not hitting me!" As he spoke, he inched himself closer and closer towards the gun he dropped when Batman landed on him before. Just a little closer... "After all, because of that little...'_Dent'_ incident, you've become a wanted man. Now they call you a murderer—like me!"

For a moment, Batman actually thought about what the clown had said. He _had _become a wanted man. People seemed to forget how many lives he saved and criminals he locked up; now they were only concerned about the negatives—the murders of some drugged out mob leaders. Quickly though, he realized what the Joker was trying to do, and pushed his words out of his mind when he noticed how close he had gotten to the discarded weapon. In a flash, he lumbered over to him and kicked the gun under one of the parked cars before the maniac could reach it. With a low growl, he seized the Joker by the throat. "I did what I had to, for the good of this city!" He clenched his hand against the murderer's windpipe and squeezed.

Gagging, the Joker thrashed, kicked, and clawed at his hand. He tried to speak, but could only muster a choked cry. He fought against the man desperately, like an animal in a trap. Then all at once, he calmed down and suddenly grabbed Batman's wrist tightly, forcing a grin. "And what, exactly, has the city ever done for you_, Brucey?_"

In that instant, other man released him, and the Joker fell to his knees, gasping for air. Batman was completely caught off guard. This was bad. This was _really _bad. "What did you say?!"

"Are you surprised, mm? You shouldn't be." The Joker rubbed his abused throat and looked up at him with a smirk. "Y'see, my little stay at Arkham gave me time to... think things—_through _a little." His tongue lashed out to lick his lips. "Wanna know how I figured it out?"

Though he was fully clad in protective kevlar armor, Bruce felt stark naked. Now the illusion, the symbol was ruined. The Dark Knight was now just a man, a mortal in the eyes of his worst enemy. He did not want to hear anymore. Instead, he wanted to smash the clown's face in. His hand raised and clenched into a quivering fist, ready to deliver another bruising punch.

Joker lowered his head and held his hands up defensively in anticipation for the next blow. "It wasn't hard! I just put all the pieces together!" When the blow did not come, he glanced back up at Batman, whose fist still lingered in the air. So he _did _want to know. The clown grinned and continued, "I just had to pay attention to all the, uh, _details_... Y'see, it was obvious from the get go that you had to be someone with _money_ and _connections_. I mean, how else would you be able to afford such...neat toys? That narrowed it down a bit, but only a bit. What _reeeally _gave you away was your connection to Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes."

_'Rachel...' _Bruce almost struck him right then and there for saying her name. It took a great deal of strength to hold himself back from beating the Joker's face in. He hated that monster for taking her away from him, and would never forgive him for killing her. She was the only person who gave him hope, the one person who mattered most to him, and she was _stolen _away from him forever.

"Y'know, when you threw yourself so... _gallantly_ out the window after her, I thought you were Harvey, trying to save his main squeeze from getting...squished. Obviously, you're not him, but guess who else wasn't present at the par-ty? Bruce Wayne, the _play boy, _childhood friends to Ms. Rachel Dawes. But even that wasn't enough to be sure..." He paused to lick his lips. "This last part, though, tied it allllll together. Remember when I told you where Rachel and Harvey were being held captive? 'Course you do. Well anyway, when I told you, I, uh, switched up their addresses—just for fun! Now, I was almost _sure_ you'd go to where Rachel was being held to save Harvey, but I was wrong! _Instead, _you went to _Harvey's_ whereabouts so you could save the _girl_!" He started to laugh. "I knew then, she had to have been pret-ty important to you seeing how you'd actually sacrifice 'Gothham's White Knight' for a _measly District Attorney_!"

Finally, Batman could not hold himself back any longer, and his fist came crashing into the Joker's laughing face. "_Shut up!_" He roared.

The force of the blow knocked the other man back down on the ground, the back of his head hitting the cold pavement. Slowly, the Joker sat up and wiped the corner of his mouth. A metallic taste filled his mouth. He turned his head and spat blood then looked back up at Bruce, his green eyes burning with intensity. "If you don't wanna lose the game, you have to play by the _rules_, Brucey boy."

"What do you want?" Batman scowled.

"Uh, well..." The Joker took his time in answering. He stretched his sore muscles and popped his neck, taking his time to recover from the last painful assault. "I just don't want to go back to prison. I leave it up to you to decide what to do with me." He smirked.

Bruce could gather what the Joker was trying to do; he was testing him to see if he would break his one rule in order to protect his secret. _'He's trying to corrupt me, just like he corrupted Harvey...' _"You think you can pressure me into killing you or letting you go?"

"Yeah." Joker said very matter-of-factly.

"Heh, who would believe a freak like you anyway?" Batman gave a short, spiteful laugh. Even though the other man knew his secret, he kept his deep, gruff Batman voice. Call it habit, or call it a means of intimidation.

The clown shakily rose to his feet, looking up at the taller man with a devious smile. "You're right. I'm sure most people will think I'm just a raving lunatic. But... it only takes _one _person to believe me... If just _one _person takes me seriously... _game over_. I mean, if _I _could figure it out, how hard do you think it could be?"

Batman grit his teeth. He hated to admit it, but the maniac was right. After all, that idiot Coleman Reese was able to figure it out somehow too. There was no telling if Reese would forget about owing Bruce his life, and come forward after hearing the Joker's ramblings. This whole situation just got very delicate, and Bruce would have to plan his next moves carefully if he didn't want his whole world to come crashing down around him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the loud shrill of police sirens in the distance. Both men jumped in surprise, looked around then looked back at each other. It seemed as though the police had finally decided to intervene. Bruce began to panic; he knew he couldn't let the Joker run free, but he also couldn't allow the police to arrest him, as doing so would put his identity in jeopardy.

Joker stood on his tippy-toes and glanced over Batman's shoulder, toward the direction of the sirens with an amused grin. "Sounds like they're coming to get me." His eyes flicked back to the other man, staring hard into his dark eyes as if trying to read his thoughts. "Well, what'll it be, Bats?"

Batman was silent, deep in thought. He was carefully mulling over the options in his head, trying to decide the best course of action. As the sirens grew louder, he saw the flashing lights of a police car as it turned down the street out of the corner of his eyes. _'Damn it!' _There was no more time to think. He had to act _now._

"Bats?" Joker pried again, waving his hand in front of the other man's face. _'Where did he go? Out to lunch?' _Suddenly, Batman sprung back to life and snatched his hand, squeezing it hard. Before he could react, the larger man struck him hard over the head. The Joker felt a sharp pain at his temple that was followed by complete numbness. His vision began to haze, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground. The last thing he saw before he blacked out completely was Batman's feet.

Bruce froze. He could hardly believe his own actions. He felt as if he was no longer in control of his own body. He stared down at the Joker's unconscious form, debating on whether or not to leave it there for the police. _'I can't just let him go... but I can't let them take him away either.' _

Finally, he reached down and scooped the killer's motionless body up into his arms and ran. Bruce's adrenaline must have kicked in at that point because the Joker seemed to weight nothing at all. He was able to carry him down the street and into a dark alley before the cop car could spot the two of them. Down the alley he ran, maneuvering them through the dark labyrinth until he found where he parked his Bat-cycle. Bruce sat the unconscious man down on the bike, carefully positioning him on it so that he wouldn't fall off during the ride. He sat down behind the Joker and heaved a sigh. He asked himself what he was doing and why he was doing it, and if this really was the best decision. _'No sense turning back now.' _He thought. He revved up the engine and sped off down the street with his new captive.

As the bike accelerated, the Joker's head slumped backwards against Bruce's shoulder. His green-tinted hair blew in the wind, and tickled the parts of his face not covered by his mask. It made Bruce get an uneasy feeling in his stomach. It was strange to have his enemy so close without posing a threat to his life. He knew he was taking on a tremendous risk by bringing the Joker into his home, but there was no other choice. If he couldn't turn him in and he couldn't let him go, the least he could do was to lock him up and keep him out of trouble—at least until he could come up with a better solution.

Back at Wayne Manor, Alfred had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for Bruce to come home. The loud roar from an engine outside roused him from his sleep. He glanced over at the clock with a puzzled look. It seemed way too early for Bruce to be back home; usually he was out till dawn when Batman was needed.

The old butler got up and headed into one of the many secret entrances to the Bat cave. Cautiously, he made his way down the dark staircase. At the bottom of the stairs, he could see Bruce dismounting his bike. Through the darkness, Alfred could make out another figure resting on the Bat-cycle. He watched as Bruce carefully leaned over the bike and picked up the other figure who remained completely limp in his arms. "Master Wayne?" Alfred squinted his eyes as he moved closer, trying to make out who the other figure was.

Bruce swung around in surprise upon hearing his voice, revealing the unconscious Joker in his arms. "Alfred..." Bruce began, his voice that of tired desperation, "I need your help..."

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**(A/N): **Wow it's been forever since I've written something here. I usually don't write unless I'm really inspired and motivated by a pairing... and boy, AM I MOTIVATED! BrucexJoker ftw! This pairing has seriously destroyed my childhood, but I still love it! Honestly, I love good guy/bad guy, good vs. evil relationships... Nothing like a little fight, drama, and angry sex to spice up a relationship, am I right? (all three of those things will happen in future chapters, I promise!)

Reviews/Comments are appreciated. It's my first time writing a Batman fanfic, so I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


	2. The Tower

**Behind Insanity**

**.2.**

**The Tower**

_**The Tower Card **in Tarot symbolizes a dramatic change in one's life, a disruption of routines, or a new conflict. It represents ruin and disturbance, a dramatic upheaval, a change in tides..._

"Alfred, I need your help..." Bruce's eyes pleaded with his butler.

The sight of the seemingly lifeless Joker hanging limp in Master Wayne's arms, made the hairs on the back of Alfred's neck prick up and a chill run down his spine. Immediately, his mind turned to the worst case scenario. "Is he... dead, sir?"

"No, just unconscious..." Bruce almost wished he _were_ dead. He had a feeling his butler would have taken that better than the truth. He glanced back down at the thinner man he was holding, just to make sure he really _was_ still asleep. Bruce was pretty on edge at this point, half-expecting the clown to wake up at any moment, and attack him like some wild animal. But the Joker remained completely still, breathing slowly.

Now Alfred was just as tense as Bruce, knowing that the madman was only sleeping. Now he saw the maniac as a ticking time bomb, ready to spring out from Bruce's arms and start destroying the place. He frowned. "Why have you brought him here?" It was strange, almost disturbing for Alfred to see his master holding the nastiest criminal in all of Gothham in his arms like a fair damsel.

Bruce shamefully lowered his head. He didn't want to admit it, he didn't know _how _to admit it. He lost Rachel, he lost Harvey, and now he felt as though he had lost a piece of himself. "He knows, Alfred..." He muttered under his breathe. At this point, his voice had lost all the strength and confidence it exuded when he took on the persona of Batman.

Judging by his master's tone, Alfred could tell exactly what he was implying. He knew this day would come, that eventually someone would figure it out; he just never expected this_ lunatic _to be the one to do it. "Bloody hell... You _do _need help." The old butler shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know what to tell you. This is not a man that can be negotiated with..."

"I know that, Alfred... I just... I just didn't know what else to do, so I brought him here." Bruce sighed. Even though Alfred always seemed to have the right answers, Bruce didn't expect him to have the solution for this problem. He was beginning to doubt there even _was _a solution to this problem.

"The cave is not equipped for holding prisoners of his lot, sir." Alfred did not want that _thing _staying in the mansion. "If he ever got out, all hell would break loose and you know it."

Bruce mulled over his words for a moment then looked up. "...I have to take that risk." He walked towards one of the open storage rooms and looked inside. It was a pretty plain room, small, perfectly square, empty save for a few boxes full of various supplies. "We can hold him in here if we clear it out. It's not much, but it'll do until I can prepare another room with a lock in the morning."

Alfred eyed the room wearily. Even if they locked the Joker in a safe welded to the floor, he still wouldn't feel comfortable lodging the killer in their home. "Well, let's hope he's still _here_ in the morning."

It was risky, but they had to make due with what they had, and since the Bat Cave was never installed with a prison, an empty storage room with a decent lock would have to suffice. Bruce carried his captive into the room, and sat him down against the wall so he could remove the boxes of potentially dangerous goodies. He turned to Alfred as he carried out the boxes, stacking them outside the room. "Can you bring me down some bedding, Alfred?"

"Aiming to make his stay at Wayne Manor a cozy one, sir?" Alfred cocked his brow.

"Do _you _want to deal with him when he wakes up cranky in the morning?." Bruce managed a grin.

"...I'll go fetch a comforter." Alfred nodded and headed back upstairs.

Bruce sighed and removed his mask; it wouldn't do him any good here anymore, and besides, it was getting uncomfortable. He did feel slightly better now that he had some sort of plan as to what to do with the Joker. A short-term solution would be good enough for now.

He crept back into the storage room and over to the sleeping Joker. He knelt down slowly, closely observing his breathing patterns. Once he was certain he was still out cold, he leaned over him and began searching his pockets for dangerous surprises. Bruce carefully reached into his purple jacket and found a knife in each pocket, clown make-up, and a small bottle of green hair gel. In his pants pocket he found more knives and a piece of chalk. Finally, he reached into his vest pocket, watching the Joker's face as he did to make sure he remained asleep, and pulled out a switch blade, a deck of cards, and what appeared to be pills of some sort.

The pills were tiny, off-white circles with no distinguishable markings on them. Bruce found it strange that they were loose in his pocket, without a bottle or any form of packaging to hold them. He wondered if they might help explain the Joker's odd behavior, so he shoved the pills into a box with the rest of his belongings, and carried them out of the room.

Alfred returned shortly after with a comforter, a pillow, and the thinnest, ugliest sheet he could find. He handed the bedding to Bruce, who could tell his butler didn't want to get too close to the clown. In return, he took the box holding the Joker's belongings. He peered into the box, and was not surprised that it was mostly filled with knives. "Suppose I should lock all his toys up in the safe then."

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll take it from here." Bruce smiled faintly. He knew Alfred felt uneasy about keeping the Joker here, but he was handling the situation pretty well. As his butler turned to leave, Bruce lowered his head again. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this..."

"I'm always here to help, sir." Alfred looked over his shoulder and grinned back at him. "Just don't stay down here too long. It'll be a bloody nightmare when he wakes up."

Bruce nodded and watched his butler disappear back upstairs into the warm mansion. He walked back into the storage room and laid out the bedding, spreading it out on the floor. Again, he looked over at the Joker to make sure he was still sound asleep. _'Guess it couldn't hurt to move him.' _Gingerly, Bruce slid his arms under the smaller man's body and carefully shifted him onto the comforter. He threw the sheet over his sleeping form, not caring if he was fully covered or not. The bastard could tuck himself in; Bruce certainly wasn't doing _that _part.

Just then the Joker began to stir. Bruce tensed, ready to spring into action if the other woke up. He watched with bated breathe as the Joker nestled his head against the pillow. The smaller man sighed through his nose at new found softness, and in a few minutes his breathing slowed once more, and he was back sleeping peacefully.

Relieved, Bruce sighed and relaxed again. To be honest, he had enough fighting for one day; he just wanted to go to bed so he could think to himself in peace. He sat back, and for a moment just silently observed the other as he slept. His eyes scanned his features carefully, taking them in as if for the first time.

When his eyes were closed, the Joker's eyes looked like dark, empty pits because of his black make-up. He looked eerie, and yet, the way in which his green curls fell over his face, and how his red-painted lips pouted almost childishly in his sleep, made him look so peaceful and harmless.

It was strange, even fascinating for Bruce to see his enemy look calm and quiet. For a moment, he wondered what the Joker would look like without all that ridiculous make-up. _'He probably wouldn't look so threatening...If only...' _Quickly, Bruce stood up and pushed away the notion. He was beginning to weird himself out by thinking so much about the clown, and he decided it was definitely time for bed. He hastened out of the room and closed the door, locking it behind him before he headed out of the frigid cave, leaving the Joker alone in the dimly lit storage room.

* * *

His eyes snapped open and he immediately gripped his head in pain. It felt as though his skull had been split open, but it was the cold, and not the pain that woke him. Shivering, the Joker sat up, his eyes darting nervously around his new surroundings.

The room he was in was small and barren, and the only means of illumination was a small light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Still holding his head, he shakily rose to his feet. There were too many sensations at once: pain, cold, confusion, dizziness, disorientation, _fear_. The room was too small; the walls were closing in on him—he needed to get out!

The Joker's heart began to race, and he threw himself up against the door. He twisted the doorknob and shoved his body weight into it. It was locked. No surprise. Staggering back a bit, he glared at the door, then began kicking it over and over again. Nothing.

He panting, he running his hand through his green curls, and forced himself to calm down so he could rethink his strategy. Just then he realized something, and began searching his pockets for his knives. Everything was gone, right down to the piece of chalk hidden in his pant pocket.

Defeated, he plopped down on the floor, sitting cross-legged, and stared at the door intently. Above him, the light bulb began to dim. He looked up at it as it flicked on and off, and suddenly his lips curled into a grin. The Joker began laughing quietly to himself as the bulb slowly burned out, allowing the darkness to shroud him in shadows.

* * *

The alarm clock on the nightstand came blazing on at the crack of dawn, but Bruce was already wide awake. He walked out of the bathroom, dripping wet, and wrapped his bathrobe tightly around himself. He slammed his hand down on the clock to silence it, and sighed; he could not sleep at all last night. Every little sound made him think the Joker had somehow escaped and found his way into the mansion.

He brushed his fingers through his damp hair, scratching his scalp. _'Stop being so pathetic and go check on him.' _He told himself as threw on some casual clothes. He decided he would go into the cave and prepare the new room before Alfred, and hopefully, the Joker woke up. There was no sense putting his faithful butler in danger over something he could easily do himself.

Bruce snuck back down to the Bat Cave, and spent the next hour working on the room. There wasn't all that much to do with it. The room was designed for him to hide out in for a few days in case of an emergency. It had a bed, a toilet, and a sink, and that was enough to keep the Joker alive in his opinion. The one thing it _did _need was a lock, which Bruce quickly remedied with a couple of power tools and a skillful hand.

Once it was done, and he was absolutely satisfied that the lock was tight and secure, he turned to the storage room door. Slowly, he approached it as if it were the gateway to hell. He unlocked the door and gripped the handle tightly, then after taking a moment to compose himself, opened it a few inches and peered in. _'What!?' _Bruce's eyes immediately went wide.

The Joker wasn't there. The room was empty except for the makeshift bed and dark—eerily dark. Bruce opened the door even further and stepped in cautiously, his keen eyes scanning through the blackness for any sign of the madman.

Suddenly, the Joker sprung out from behind the door wielding a broken light bulb, and lunged at at him, teeth grit, eyes wild. Quickly, Bruce grabbed his wrist tightly, stopping it mid-air before he could get stabbed with the jagged glass. With all his might, he shoved the frantic Joker against the wall, holding both his arms securely above his head.

Panting heavily, the Joker glared daggers at him. Then, all of the sudden, there seemed to be a flash of recognition in those wild eyes, as if he just realized who Bruce was. His body relaxed, and he let the light bulb slip out of his hand to shatter on the floor. A grin crept across his face, and all at once he returned to his normal self. "_Heh heh heh!_... So, you've made your choice."

Bruce frowned and eased his grip when he felt him stop struggling. "I should've known you'd pull a stunt like this." He never thought anyone would turn a _light bulb_ into a weapon. Then again, this _was _the Joker he was dealing with.

"And I should've known you wouldn't turn me in." The Joker smirked and licked his scars. Tilting his head to the side, his eyes trace over Bruce's features. "So..._this _is the face of Batma_n_." He seemed amused to be face-to-face with Bruce Wayne for the first time. He never actually saw the man in person, only in the news. The Joker started snickering. "Hee hee hee... No _wonder_ you wear a mask; without it you're just a pretty boy with a vendetta."

With a growl, Bruce grabbed the smaller man by shirt and threw him to the floor. "Mask or no mask, you sure seemed scared a moment ago," he muttered as he stepped over the clown. He took the Joker by the collar of his jacket and forcefully dragged him out of the storage room, across the damp cave, then threw him into his new room.

The Joker hit the floor and rolled over, laughing. "Oh-ho! You're definitely more fun without the mask, Brucey!" He got up and looked around the room curiously. It was bigger, had better lightening; it was no summer home, but he didn't feel as claustrophobic in it. He strolled over to the mattress and pressed his hand over it, testing its firmness. "Hmm... I get a bed this time!" He gave Bruce a smug look as he added, "will you come back again tonight to, uh, tuck. me. _in?_"

_'That's the last time I'm ever helping him out.' _Bruce twitched; next time he'd just let bastard freeze down here. "Now you listen to me, _Joker_. Just because I haven't turned you into the police, doesn't mean you're not a prisoner. You'll be staying in here from now on, under careful surveillance."

"Oh, yes. That'll solve _everything!_" The Joker clapped his hands together condescendingly. "Just _lock_ me up and throw away the key!" His voice suddenly grew louder, more frantic. "All you have to do is feed me once and awhile—like a goldfish! Then sooner or later, you'll forget I'm down here, or stop caring, and when that happens, I'll die! But that won't be _your_ fault—that won't be breaking your _one rule_! Because letting me die isn't the same as killing me! _I am right?!_" He suddenly yelled and launched himself onto Bruce.

Both men fell back and hit the floor hard. At first, Bruce was seeing stars when the back of his head thudded against the tiles, but he soon snapped out of it as the man on top of him tried to claw at his face. He caught the Joker's wrists in his hands before he could do any damage, and shoved the maniac off him, rolling them over, and pinning him down on the ground.

The Joker's eyes burned wildly with rage as he struggled against him, squirming around on the floor. He tried kicking him off, but Bruce pressed his knees into his legs to hold them down. Once the Joker realized it was futile, he stopped fighting back and just laid there, glaring spitefully at his enemy.

Bruce stared down at him for a long time. He did not understand what just happened; he never saw the man so wild and unpredictable before. Before yesterday, he had only caught glimpses of what the Joker was like from their brief encounters. After spending a few hours alone with him, he began to see different sides of the man—the wild and desperate sides. He was beginning to see how truly disturbed this man really was.

The Joker was right about one thing though; he couldn't just leave him in the cave under his mansion forever. Just one night alone in the storage room was enough to make the clown have a break down. Bruce looked into those furious burning green eyes, and saw within them hints of fear and confusion. He decided he needed to try different approach. "I won't kill you..." he began in a calm voice, hoping it would get the maniac to settle down, "but I won't let you die in here either..."

Those words completely caught the Joker off guard, and he felt his cheeks flush under his face paint. He just laid there blinking while Bruce got up, and he watched silently as his enemy walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Only when he heard his foot steps fade away into the distance, did he sit up.

Alone again, his mind was free to wander. Joker thought about Bruce's words. He wondered what kind of man Bruce Wayne was, and if he really _was _Batman. After all, _Batman _would never had said those things to him. As he thought, he licked his lips then suddenly smirked. "Looks like things will start to get a little... _interesting._"

He got up and started to explore his new room, touching everything, looking for something to help him escape. He examined everything he was given: the bed, the toilet, the sink, with a critical eye. "Hm..." He approached the bed first, knelt down, and crawled underneath it. His hand searched the underside of the mattress until he found a rip in the fabric. With a smirk, he shoved his hands through the rip and tore through the bottom of the mattress, pulling out some foam and metal springs from within it.

Next, he stalked over to the sink, plugged up the drain and turned the faucet on full blast. As the sink filled with water, he then set his sights on the toilet. He took the whole roll of toilet paper and shoved it into the bowl, then threw in the mattress foam and some springs before he flushed it. Laughing maniacally, he continued flushing until it overflowed, water leaking out onto the floor.

The Joker grinned, watching as more and more water spilled out from the faucet and toilet, spreading across the floor. He sat in the corner, away from the liquid and began uncoiling one of the metal springs into wire, giggling mischievously to himself.

* * *

Once Bruce was safely back upstairs in his father's study, he heaved a sigh of relief. He didn't know how much longer he could survive these unpredictable encounters with that madman downstairs. He placed his hands over his face and rubbed his temples. When had things started to go so downhill for him? There used to be a time when he was so on top of things, when he knew exactly what to do, but now he was constantly doubting himself. It probably had something to do with Rachel's death... Bruce was never felt the same after he failed her.

"Master Wayne?" Alfred poked his head into the study. "Are you alright, sir?" He was carrying a tray of breakfast and a slip of paper.

Bruce jumped a bit in surprise, and pulled his hands away from his face. "Yeah... I was just making sure our guest hadn't escaped." He motioned to the piece of paper in his butler's hand. "What's that?"

"Ah, well I went ahead and ran a test on those pills our friend had on him, and these are the results." Alfred handed him the paper, and as Bruce's eyes carefully studied it, he summed it up for him. "It's an antipsychotic medication called Clozapine, used only in treatment-resistant schizophrenics..."

"It's proscription..." Bruce mused. "Is this what they were drugging him with in Arkham?" There had been no doubt in his mind that the Joker was crazy, but it didn't feel right to pass off such insanity as a mere disorder. A _disorder _meant that he couldn't help the way he was, that his behavior was out of his hands, that it wasn't truly his fault. That was bullshit. The Joker knew exactly what he was doing when he tormented people, and he _enjoyed _every second of it.

"I doubt he was taking them at all; he had a whole pocket full of them. I'd venture to guess he was hiding them from the doctors." Alfred then handed him the plate with eggs, bacon, and toast on it. "I was going to have you run this down for our guest, but seeing how you just came back up, I think you ought to take a break and eat first."

Bruce nodded and took the plate from him. "Thank you, Alfred. I'll give him some time to settle down before I go back down there..."

Alfred took note of how brained Bruce seemed. "Did you give you any trouble, sir?"

"Hmph. I'll say; he attacked me with a broken light bulb." Bruce couldn't help but chuckle. It sounded so funny to say out loud.

Alfred blinked. "A light bulb you say?"

"Yeah, talk about desperate..." Bruce stared off into space for a moment, once again thinking about the clown downstairs—the bizarre way he acted before. The Joker had seemed bent on killing him, but for some reason stopped. _'Did he not realize it was me when I entered the room? Did he think I handed him over to the police or even the_ mob_?' _

_"Just lock me up and throw away the key! All you have to do is feed me once and awhile... Sooner or later, you'll forget I'm down here, and when that happens, I'll die!"_

Bruce frowned and looked guiltily down at the plate of food. "On second thought, I should probably get this to him... I don't want him tearing up that room."

Alfred nodded. "Alright, sir. Maybe you could ask him why he's caring a whole pharmacy in his pockets while you're down there... Just watch out for light bulbs."

Bruce grinned and walked over to the piano, playing the specific keys that opened the secret bookshelf entrance. "Will do." He headed into the lift and rode it all the way back down into the cave.

As he neared the Joker's room, Bruce could make out the sound of running water. He immediately didn't sit right with him. Suddenly, he heard the Joker cry out in pain from behind the door. Dropping the plate on the ground, Bruce sprinted to the door, unlocked it, and rushed inside. The second he ran inside, he slipped and fell on his back into a large puddle of water. As Bruce groaned and struggled to sit up, he suddenly felt something cold and metallic wrap around his neck, constricting him.

The Joker leaned over his shoulder and snickered as he twisted what appeared to be a manipulated mattress spring tighter and tighter around Bruce's windpipe. "Su-rpiiiise...!" He purred into his ear.

**To Be Continued...**

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**(A/N): **I am absolutely _thrilled _to get such positive feedback from you readers! It's good to see that this pairing is as popular deserves to be :) I was also very excited to get feedback from some of my favorite Batman/Joker writers. I feel very special now, thank you! -heart-

Fun fact: Clozapine, the drug mentioned in the story, is a real drug proscribed to schizophrenic patients who have failed to respond to at least two other antipsychotic drugs. It the most effective drug for schizophrenics, but is used as a last resort due to a number of potentially lethal side-effects. I found a little info about the drug while doing some research on schizophrenia (I'm such a sap for psychology), and it sounded like the type of drug doctors would use to dope up the Joker. Anyway, just thought it was interesting and wanted to point that out.

Oh shits! A cliff-hanger! But no worries, I'll update soon after the Holiday. Till then have a Happy Turkey Day!

Again, comments/reviews are looked upon with love and get me pumped to write more :)


	3. The Hanged Man

**Behind Insanity**

**.3.**

**The Hanged-Man**

_**The Hanged Man Card **represents devotion to a worthwhile cause, a sacrifice of one thing in the present in order to gain another in the future. It signifies a waiting period or a transformation..._

The metal wire around Bruce's neck tightened, and soon he felt himself become unable to breathe. His face reddened as he desperately fought to free himself from the deadly vice. When his vision began clouding over, Bruce thought for certain he would die right then and there—strangled to death by a psychotic clown with a mattress spring. But before he could black out from lack of oxygen, the pressure was suddenly gone, and he was freed from the Joker's grip. The second he was released, Bruce slumped forward, gasping, his fingers desperately fumbling to remove the tangled metal from around his sore throat.

While Bruce was preoccupied with freeing himself, the Joker took the time to dart out of the room and into the dark, damp cave, never once looking back. Between his two months in Arkham and two days locked up in the Bat Cave, the Joker had had enough of being cooped up. He needed freedom, he needed to stretch his legs, he needed to get the hell out of there and _fast_.

_'Shit!' _Bruce took a deep breathe when he finally pulled the spring from his abused neck. Immediately, he stumbled out the room and staggered after the Joker. Though feeling very queazy and light-headed, he still ran after the clown, knowing that if he lost sight of him in the cave, he could very well lose him all together in the maze-like catacombs.

The Joker surged through the darkness, desperately searching for a means of escape. Suddenly, he stepped into a foot of icy water and stopped. There was a shallow river running through the cave. Thinking it would lead him to an exit, he turned to face the flow of the water, and began following it through the cave. The water went through the middle of the cave, and eventually led to a dark tunnel that seemed to go deeper into the Bat Cave.

Bruce was coming up fast behind him, splashing through the water after him. He followed the Joker into a tunnel, the water becoming deeper and the current stronger. The water was just below his knees when the Joker came to an abrupt stop. Bruce slowed down and cautiously moved in on him, not letting his guard down.

The Joker was standing on the edge, peering down at the waterfall below. It was steep fall, about a twelve foot drop into the dark water below. Hesitating, he turned around and looked at Bruce, staring at him as if he was trying to chose the lesser of two evils. The Joker couldn't swim—it was a skill irrelevant to his "profession"—but he also couldn't allow himself to get caught and locked up in that damn room again.

"Alright, Joker... you've had your fun, but now it's over. There's nowhere to go from here except deeper into the cave." Bruce moved in on him steadily, ready to make a grab at the maniac or defend himself if he wanted to fight.

"Over? _Over?!_" The Joker suddenly grinned. "C'mon Brucey... You should know by now...with me, the fun is _never over!_" And with that, he stepped off the edge of the waterfall, laughing madly until he plunged into the ice cold water below.

Cursing, Bruce ran to the edge of the ledge and peered down, eyes scanning the water for any sign of the Joker. When he didn't surface in the next minute or two, Bruce began to worry. Heaving a sigh of annoyance, Bruce ran off the ledge and dove in after him. Blindly, he swam through the dark water, deeper and deeper until finally, he felt the other man's arm, grabbed it, and pulled him back to the surface. Bruce hauled him over to the riverbank and threw him onto the gravel with a growl. "I told you not to do that... I should've let you drown!"

The Joker landed on his stomach, laughing and coughing at the same time. "But _heh heh heh_...you didn't..." He turned slowly, looking up at Bruce. He was a completely different man now; his make-up had washed off in the water, revealing the smooth, youthful, lightly tanned skin underneath. "You _heh heh_... weren't kidding when you said you wouldn't let me die." A smirk formed on his now pink lips.

Bruce's eyes went wide. _'God... he's just a kid...'_ The Joker never ceased to amaze him. Without all that crap on his face, he was just a young man in his mid to late-twenties—completely ordinary if not for those scars that became more pronounced without the red make-up. Bruce was surprised, but he knew he shouldn't have been. He always knew there was a man under that painted mask of his, he just never thought he'd get to see it himself. In the past forty-eight hours, Bruce had seen so much more of the Joker than he ever could have imagined. Now they were both without their masks...

The madman stared back at him with an inquisitive look on his face. "Uh... what'cha starin' at?" He didn't realize his make-up had come off, and was wondering why the other was giving him such a strange look. Then suddenly, he raised his hand to his cheek and rubbed. He lowered his hand and inspected it. It was then he realized his face was fully exposed. A moment of silence passed between the two men as they looked each other over curiously. The silence, however, was short-lived, and was broken when the Joker suddenly sneezed, making them realize just how cold and wet they both were.

---

Bruce cursed himself for being so compassionate as he rode the lift up to the mansion to get some dry clothes for himself and his guest. Maybe Raz and the League of Shadows were right. Maybe he was too compassionate for his own good. Killing, of course, was out of the question, but maybe he was taking it a bit far by pulling the serial killer out of the icy-cold water, and donating him some of his own clothes to him while his dried.

Shivering and dripping wet, he trudged back to his bedroom. He was cold, wet, hungry, angry, worn out, and his neck hurt like hell. Taking care of the Joker was a very demanding task, and it was slowly taking its toll on his mind and body. After getting attacked with a light bulb, slipping on toilet water, and being strangled by a bed spring, Bruce knew he should have just let the psycho freeze. But Bruce couldn't bring himself to do that, for he needed to prove to that lunatic downstairs that he was the better man, that no matter what he would always win_ because_ he did the right thing.

Peeling the wet clothes from his body, Bruce carelessly discarded them on the floor, and threw on another set of casual clothes. He searched through his drawers for something he wouldn't mind the Joker wearing and probably ruining, and he managed to find an old shirt, socks, and a pair of pants and boxers that were a size too small for him. He folded up the clothes, then snuck back to the study, trying to avoid Alfred and with him, any more embarrassing conversations. Before entering the lift, he opened the safe where the Joker's belongings were kept, and took out three pills, sliding them into his pocket.

As the lift steadily dropped down the elevator shaft, Bruce leaned against the side of it, sighing. Again, he thought about the Joker, about how much he had seen and learned about him within two days. He wondered how long he would have to keep him locked up in the cave, how many more escape attempts there would be, how long it would take before Bruce lost his own mind. He groaned, wishing that he could stop thinking about the lunatic for more than five minutes.

The lift stopped, the doors opened, and Bruce once again approached the storage room where he had held the Joker the first night. Since the Joker had demolished the other room, he had to use this one again, which was fine by Bruce since it was empty inside save for the comforter and a pillow. Slowly, he opened the door, preparing himself for any more nasty surprises.

This time, the Joker was sitting in the corner, the comforter and sheet wrapped tightly around his shivering form. He looked up at Bruce and forced a grin. "_Hiiii_..." He seemed to perk up when he noticed the clothes the other was carrying. "Ooo—what'd ya bring me?"

Relaxing somewhat, Bruce tossed him the pile of clothes. "Put these on." He commanded; a sick Joker was the last thing he needed.

The Joker grabbed the clothes and examined them with a frown. Sure they were dry and would warm him up nicely, but_ god_ they were so _boring_. Plain old khaki pants and a white button down shirt, much different from his regular purple-suit, green-vest attire. He did, however, find much interest in the boxers. He held them up, snickering childishly as he played with the stretchy waistband.

"_Hurry up!_" Bruce seethed, growing impatient.

"_Whoo hoo hoo!_ You're just _dying_ to see me naked, aren't you?" With a smirk, he slid out of the comforter and pulled off his soggy jacket. He took his time untying his tie and unbuttoning his vest. Even though he was cold and eager to change into some dry clothes, he still loved pushing Bruce's buttons.

Bruce's cheeks reddened at the comment, and he turned to stare at the wall, grumbling. Again, he cursed himself for his compassion as he waited for the other to hurry up and get dressed. He frowned, feeling the Joker's eyes upon him, watching Bruce mockingly as he peeled off his wet clothes... It made him nervous, more nervous than he would have been if the maniac was holding a knife.

As the Joker removed his shirt, Bruce noticed several bruises on his skin. At first, he thought nothing of them; they were probably from their fight last night. But then he noticed that some of them were older, in various stages of healing along his wrists and ribs. Those ones weren't from him... "What are those from?" He muttered.

"_Hmm?_" The Joker tilted his head at him as he pulled on Bruce's shirt.

"How'd you get those bruises?" Bruce clarified a bit louder.

The Joker paused a moment, licking his lips in thought. "Uh, well, let's see... you jumped off a building and landed on me, you, uh, pushed me into a car, oh! and you threw me into the street, onto concrete pavement. Am I missing one?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Those aren't from me..." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked back over at him. "Looks like someone else gave you a better beating than I did."

"_Oh yeah?_" Suddenly, the Joker became cross. "And just what do you care _anyhow?_" He growled then abruptly, his lips curled into a devilish smirk, his thumbs hooking under the waistband of his pants. "I mean, have you taken a fancy to me?_ Hm?_" And with that the Joker slid both his wet pants and boxer-briefs down his slender hips in one movement.

If Bruce's blush wasn't noticeable before, it certainly was now. His jaw dropped; _now _Bruce had _truly _seen so much more of the Joker than he ever could have imagined. He quickly averted his eyes, but the damage was already done. He saw _everything_. "Y-you didn't answer the question..." He blurted, trying to get back on topic.

"You didn't answer _mine_." The Joker retorted as he picked up the dry boxers, still eying Bruce with a smug look on his face. He found pride in making _the_ Batman blush.

_'Touché...' _Bruce thought as he stared a hole into the wall. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the Joker slowly pulled on his boxers and pants. Only when the Joker began buttoning up his shirt, did he turn back around to face him. "You're sick." He glared.

The Joker giggled a bit at the comment as he worked on the buttons. The shirt was a little big on him, especially the sleeves since Bruce was obviously more built, and the pants sagged a bit on his thin hips, but he was warm, dry, and happy. He stretched out his arms, and spun around in a circle, grinning at Bruce. "How do I look?"

At first, Bruce was going to make a snide remark, but stopped and actually gave the question some thought. He looked completely different now; without the clown make-up and ridiculous purple suit, he looked like a new person altogether. He looked young, he looked small, he looked _innocent_, but most of all he looked... "Normal."

"Normal..." The Joker mused, lowering his arms to his sides, tugging up his sagging pants. Suddenly, he started laughing again, holding his sides. "_Ha ha ha ha ha!_ Now _that's_ a good one." Slowly, he stalked towards Bruce. "You _are_ joking..." he turned his head to the side, and with a finger, traced the scars on each cheek, "_right?_"

Bruce looked away from him and began picking up the wet clothing off the floor. "You're right... You're _not _normal..." He gathered the discarded clothes in his arms then frowned at him. "But it's not because of the scars..." The Joker grew very quiet at his remark, and frowned back at him. That look meant that it was time to leave before things got ugly. "I'll put these in the dryer... I'll be back with food _again_; if you want to eat it this time, I suggest you don't pull anymore tricks."

"Can I have my cards back?" The Joker spoke up just as Bruce turned his back to him. He lowered his head and played with the bottom of his shirt. "I'll be good if I can have my cards back..." He almost whispered.

Bruce arched his brow at the odd request. Even though the Joker had been able to turn just about anything he got his hands on into some sort of weapon, he felt that cards were reasonable enough. The poor bastard was probably bored out of his mind, and maybe if he had some means of occupying himself, it would keep him from planning another elaborate escape plan. "Alright." He sighed and walked out.

* * *

Exhausted, Bruce dragged himself into the kitchen, and straight over to the coffee machine. Even though he hadn't eaten anything all day, he decided a cup of coffee would have to do until he got the Joker situated. He at least needed the extra boost of energy to deal with the psychopath again. When Alfred entered the room, Bruce was guzzling down the coffee as if he hadn't had anything to drink in days.

"You alright, sir?" Alfred shot him a strange look as he strode over to the microwave, and removed a second plate of breakfast from it.

Bruce swallowed the last bit of lukewarm coffee and sighed. Alfred never missed a thing... "Rough morning..." He grumbled lowly. Of course, it wasn't the morning anymore; it was after noon and he had done nothing all day but get mauled, soaked, and flashed by the Joker. He just hoped every morning wasn't as... _eventful_ as this one.

Alfred squinted his eyes and stepped closer, suddenly frowning. "God Bruce! What happened to your neck?"

"Huh?" Bruce blinked and placed a hand to his throat. He winced when he felt the skin raised where the Joker had wrapped the spring around his neck. He never gave it much thought until now, but the Joker almost killed him with that thing, the Joker _could have _killed him with that thing, but didn't. "...Like I said, rough morning." Bruce grumbled and took the plate from Alfred. "Tell you about it later, for now, I need to bring this back down to the cave without dropping it again..."

"Alright, sir." Alfred frowned. He didn't like the sound of that one bit, but it seemed that Bruce had things under control. "Just be careful... I mean it, you're gambling with your life every time you go down there..."

Bruce turned away from him. "Believe me, Alfred, I know..." Each time he went down there, the Joker had tormented him in some way, and yet Bruce continued to go to him. It was strange and even a bit creepy, but he almost _wanted _to see him. Every time he saw the Joker, he learned something new about him. He thought that maybe he could someday learn what exactly made him so crazy.

* * *

The Joker was pacing back and forth in the tiny room, impatiently; it was the only thing to keep his mind off his claustrophobia. Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps coming towards the door. Quickly, he scrambled over to the comforter and sat himself down on it, just as Bruce opened the door. As his captor approached him, the Joker glanced at the plate of food he was carrying with hungry eyes. It had been forever since his last meal...

Carefully, Bruce handed him the plate and a paper cup of orange juice, knowing full well that he was still dealing with a deadly criminal. He decided he wasn't going to risk a fork, knife, or even a glass after what the clown did with a simple light bulb and a bed spring; he would just have to eat with his hands.

The Joker, however, didn't seem to mind. He immediately grabbed the plate from him, and began shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth with his hands like a starved beast. The food was cold, but it was the best thing he had eaten since he went to Arkham. Halfway through his meal, the Joker looked up at him, wiping bits of egg off his face with the back of his hand. "Did you get the cards?"

"Here." Bruce reached into his pocket, producing the deck of worn out cards bound together by a rubber-band, and tossed them over to the Joker. He watched as the other man's face lit up with glee upon grabbing them.

Grinning, the Joker ran his thumb over the worn out edges of the cards. "Looks like you're a man of your word too." He slid the deck into his breast pocket for later, and went right back to devouring the food in front of him.

As he ate, Bruce slowly reached back into his pocket and took out the Clozapine he had placed in it earlier. He decided now would be a good time to inquire about the medicine while the Joker was in a good mood. Leaning over, Bruce held the pills out in his open hand. "Do you know what this is?" He held them in front of the other's face.

At once, the Joker went completely still. His green eyes filled with horror, and he swung violently at Bruce, swatting away his arm and knocking the pills out of his hand. "_G-get that shit away from me!_" He hissed, his voice suddenly filled with rage. The pills landed somewhere on the floor, and the Joker retreated into the corner, glaring back at him.

Bruce stared at him; he was not expecting _this_ type of reaction out of him. Now he _really _wanted to know what the deal was with these pills. He knelt down till he was at the Joker's level, and spoke to him gently as if he were a frightened child. "Your pocket was full of this stuff when I searched you. Is this the medicine they gave you in Arkham?"

The Joker pressed himself against the wall and uttered a short, nervous laugh. "_Ha!_ Medicine?!" He shook his head violently. "That's not medicine—it's poison _eh hee hee hee!_"

Bruce was fairly certain at this point that the Joker had completely lost it. _'Poison?' _He frowned. "What are you talking about? This is prescription medication proscribed to mental patients; it's not poison.." He thought that maybe this was just one of his schizophrenia symptoms._ 'Maybe he's imagining that the doctors are out to get him or something.'_

The smaller man shook his head again, frowning. "It's not poison, but it's poison_ed. _Haven't you ever heard of the Tylenol Murders?"

"Back in the eighties when some sicko killed seven people by lacing Tylenol with cyanide? Yes, I've heard of it, but the doctors at Arkham were trying to _help _you not _hurt _you!" This frustrated Bruce; how could the Joker think such a thing? The man was definitely crazy, but he was anything but stupid. He was refusing medicine that could help him get better over some silly delusions.

"Wow, you really _don't _know anything, do you?" Laughing at Bruce's words, the Joker rested his head against the wall, looking somewhat amused. "The long arm of the mob reaches even into Arkham.." he half-muttered to himself, "can't trust anyone these days..." For a moment he crawled away from his corner to snatch a piece of toast from his plate of food, then once again retreated back against the wall.

At first, Bruce was shocked and didn't know what to make of the clown had said. He wanted to pass off his accusations as paranoia or dementia, but now he was concerned. What if he wasn't completely off-kilter? "You think the mob has men in _Arkham?_"

"I don't think! I _know _they do! I recognize most of them from my past dealings with the mob. Oh they're_ reeeeeeally sore_ at me for burning all their money and sicking Dent on them..." The Joker nibbled on the edges of his toast childishly then continued, mouth full of bread, "It really _surprises _you? You've seen the mob's influence; they got their men into the police department, they got that nut Crane a PhD, they can do anything—_you_ know that!"

Whether Bruce liked it or not, everything he said made sense. If the mobsters were still around, they would probably stop at nothing to kill the Joker, perhaps even go so far as to get their men into Arkham. He remained silent for a few minutes, deep in thought, then went around picking the pills off the floor. "Alright, Joker, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt... but I'm going to take a closer look at these." He muttered as he slid the Clozapine into his pocket. These were some serious accusations the Joker was making, and he would need to have some sort of evidence before he went poking around the asylum.

When the pills were safely tucked away in Bruce's pant pocket, The Joker abandoned his corner and moved closer towards him. He relaxed when it was clear that Bruce wasn't going to force him to take the pills and grinned deviously up at him. "You're a good man, _Brucey_... Maybe you _have _taken a _fancy_ to me."

_'Maybe I'm _too _good of a person_..._' _Bruce grumbled and picked up the empty plate of food from off the floor. "Make me regret this, and I'll shove these pills down your throat."

"You'll come back, right?" The Joker abruptly asked, tilting his head up at him, as if he didn't even hear Bruce's threat at all. His eyes scanned the walls wearily, remembering how they seemed to close in on him last night.

Bruce blinked. "Uh, yeah..." He could sense the worry in the other's eyes, and it made him _almost_ feel sorry for leaving him in the stuffy storage room, even though it was the Joker's own fault for destroying the other room he prepared for him.

"And... and you'll bring more food, _right?_" The Joker licked at his scars.

"After I run some tests, I'll come back with dinner." Bruce turned to leave, but before he walked out the door, he looked once more at the clown. "Just behave yourself till then... Play with your cards or something..."

"Mmm..." The Joker grinned when Bruce left, closing the door behind him. He took the deck of cards out of his pocket and laid down on his stomach. He purred to himself as he shuffled the deck. He drew a card at random and flipped it over "Alright, Bats, I'll be a good boy for you..." He snickered, seeing the card he chose was his own card—the joker.

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**(A/N): **I wanted to finish this chapter before going away this weekend where I would have no computer, but my internet "conveniently" gave out Thursday night... Just my luck, right?

I wasn't exactly sure if many people are familiar with the Tylenol Murders... or if I was just a complete loser who watches too much Court TV... Basically, fall of 1982 in the Chicago area someone laced Extra-Strength Tylenol with potassium cyanide, a poison that causes death within two hours due to cardiac arrest. Seven people were killed, but the perpetrator was never caught..._Dun dun dun! _Anyway, just thought it was both interesting and inspiring because I am weird :)

So yes, in this chapter, Bruce and the Joker are getting a little more comfortable with each other slowly, but surely. When writing slash, I usually jump pretty quickly into the relationship and smut, but for this story I felt it was important to build up the relationship gradually. Hopefully I'm not boring you guys... (even though I gave you a Joker strip tease mwahaha!)

Thanks again for stopping by to read and review! You guys are great! Till next time!


	4. The Wheel of Fortune

**Behind Insanity**

**.4.**

**The Wheel of Fortune**

_**The Wheel of Fortune Card **tells of a turning point—a surprising turn of events, an alternation of the present course, experiencing change. It is the feeling of getting swept into a new development, a sense of destiny, seeing how everything connects... _

With the Joker clothed, fed, and safely locked away in his room, Bruce finally had time to breathe a little. After getting a much needed bite to eat, he spent the rest of the day as he normally would, as if the clown was never locked up in the cave, and could potentially spring himself lose and burn down the mansion. Miraculously, he was able to get a lot of his "Bruce Wayne related" business done without worrying about the maniac.

It was only until later that evening, when Alfred was busy cleaning, that Bruce went to work on examining the pills. He took them down to the cave where he wouldn't be disturbed, and began a series of tests in his own private lab. Meticulously, he ground up one of the pills, stirred it into water, then dipped in a test strip of paper.

As he waited for the paper to change color, Bruce sighed and shook his head. He felt like an idiot, running around the mansion all day, catering to the Joker's every need. Sometimes, Bruce felt as if he were baby-sitting some bratty child. Of course, he could only blame himself for going along with it instead of just ignoring the Joker completely. _'I was the one who promised not to leave him down there and forget about him... Good going, Bruce.' _He sighed again to himself then looked at the paper strip to see if it changed color. Bruce blinked, staring at it in surprise.

* * *

After the first hour or so, the Joker decided that playing cards by himself had lost its appeal. He was laying on his stomach on the comforter playing yet _another _round of solitaire. As he carefully arranged the cards on the floor before him, his stomach growled with hunger. With a grumble, he tossed the cards aside, rolled over onto his stomach, and stared up at the ceiling. What the hell was taking Bruce so long? Had he forgotten about him already?

Just as the Joker closed his eyes and decided to give up on waiting for Bruce, the door opened. He rolled over and sat up, grinning at Bruce as he entered the room. The Joker noted how he opened the door rather quickly this time, as if Bruce had grown more comfortable with him. He also noticed that he had kept his other promise by bringing him dinner. But the Joker remembered the reason why Bruce came back, and knew that that would have to come first before he could eat. "So, uh, what's the verdict?"

Bruce set the plate with a neatly made sandwich on it down in front of the Joker, frowning. "The pills tested positive for cyanide... You...weren't lying." He muttered that last sentence.

The Joker ignored the plate, and instead grinned even wider at him, placing a hand to his ear. "Hm... Mind repeating that? Didn't quite get that last part."

"I said you weren't lying." Bruce grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't like that smug look of triumph on the Joker's face, so he quickly added, "but how do I know you didn't poison them yourself? You sure are crazy enough to do it..."

At that, the Joker suddenly became cross. His head lowered and his shoulders hunched like a cat ready to pounce. "I'm _not_ crazy... I-I'm_ not._" He glared up at Bruce.

Bruce blinked, surprised at his reaction. He actually _offended _the _Joker_? Bruce's dark eyes scanned the other wearily. Judging by his stance, the maniac looked like he was ready to lash out at him if he didn't find some way to calm him down. He thought it over for a moment then looked away. "Alright, so maybe the mob _is _out to kill you... Do you remember any of their names from the hospital?"

The Joker relaxed his shoulders, and pulled the plate towards him. "Hmph. I didn't exactly get a chance to look at their name tags while they were, uh, _stomping _on my rib cage..." All his attention switched to the sandwich as he picked it apart, seeing what was inside of it.

A feeling of guilt washed over Bruce. If he really _was _telling the truth, those fake doctors probably called the Joker crazy, as he just did, and tried to get him to take poisoned medicine. _'No wonder he's so upset...' _"Those bruises... they were from the mobsters in Arkham." He watched as the clown picked off the lettuce before biting into the ham, cheese, and tomato sandwich.

The Joker's eyes suddenly darted back to Bruce; he was right. "You're not as dumb as you look." He took a few more hungry bites of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed, then tilted his head up at his nemesis. "So... now that you _finally _believe me... What're you gonna do about it?"

"I need names." Bruce frowned. "I can't just storm into Arkham and punch out every doctor I see."

The Joker giggled at the thought and shook his head. "I don't know names, but I remember _faces_..." He finished off the last bit of sandwich and licked his lips, satisfied.

Bruce carefully thought things over. Arkham was corrupt; he could not ignore that fact, even though he couldn't blame anyone for wanting to kill the Joker. The mob having men in the asylum was a very grave thing, and he knew from his past dealings with Dr. Crane just how dangerous it was. It seemed that no matter how he looked at it, he needed the Joker's help. Finally, Bruce sighed. "Would you be able to point them out by their pictures if I found files on all the employees?"

"_Certainly_." The Joker smirked. "Mmm... When it comes right down to it you _really are _willing to do _anything _for the, uh, _'good of the city,' _aren't you? Even go so far as to trust little ol' me to help you out." The clown rose to his feet, slicking his hair back with his hand. "So, uh.... how will you go about getting... said files?"

"We'll just have to sneak into Arkham and find them..." Bruce's body instinctively went into alert mode when he stood up. He never forgot that he was dealing with a very unstable, unpredictable man.

The Joker was suddenly looking at Bruce as if _he _were the crazy one. "_We?_" He suddenly bursted into laughter. When he noticed Bruce's expression had not changed, he quieted down and stared back at him. "...What? _Seriously?_"

"You and I are both going." Bruce's voice was very stern, despite his uncertainties. He knew it was a tremendous risk to take the Joker with him, but he knew it had to be done. He had to mentally block out everything the maniac had done in order to cooperate with him for the greater good. After all, as Batman, he had to put all personal matters aside, even if it meant working along side Rachel's murderer.

Taking a few steps back, the Joker shook his head. He didn't like that idea, not one bit. There was fear in his eyes at the very notion of going back to Arkham. "...I...I'm not going back." He shook his head again, nervously. "_No_... I'm not going back!" Suddenly, he hissed and hurled himself at Bruce, fists flailing.

Bruce, who was all too used to these situations by now, immediately grabbed the raging madman and threw him up against the wall with a loud thud. One arm pinned the Joker to the wall, the other coiled into a fist above his head. As Bruce's fist began came sailing down towards him, the Joker closed his eyes, readying himself for the blow. But before the punch could connect, a thought popped into Bruce's head, and suddenly he could not bring himself to hit the man. The face before him now wasn't the same Joker he knew; it wasn't the same face that ruined Harvey Dent or murdered Rachel. Just as Batman was just Bruce Wayne without his mask and armor, without his face paint or knives, the Joker was just a man.

Slowly, Bruce pulled away, staring intently at the other. When the blow never came, the Joker opened his eyes and sank against the wall quietly. Bruce watched him closely and frowned. Probably for the first time ever, he knew exactly what the Joker was thinking; he was afraid Bruce would take him back to Arkham and put him right back in his cell. Bruce could see why he was so skittish about it. "I won't leave you there... I just need you to identify the mobsters... Then we can leave; you have my word..." When the Joker made no attempt to move, and just sat staring blankly at nothing in particular, Bruce grumbled and turned his back to him. "Fine... Stay here all night then."

Suddenly, the Joker was on his feet again, stretching casually as if nothing had happened. "So... uh, when do we leave?" He grinned at Bruce.

At first, Bruce thought he had to have been messing with him, that this was just another one of his jokes, but this wasn't the first time the Joker behaved this way. He turned back around to look at the lunatic before him, and noticed something strange in that grin of his. It wasn't a smug grin, or an evil grin, or even a mocking grin; it was just a grin—a genuine grin. "Soon..." Bruce half-muttered, his eyes traveling from his lips to his hair. "Whatever's in your hair.... does it come out? The green makes you stick out too much."

The Joker unconsciously combed his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, with a little soap and water." He pouted. "But I love the green... Tell ya what, I'll wash it out if I can have my gel back...oh, and my make-up—I want that too."

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. He really didn't want to give him back his face paint. He sort of liked this new human side of the Joker; he didn't want to cover it back up with silly make-up. However, he also didn't want to start anymore fights tonight, and so he gave in. "Done."

* * *

In the room down the hall, the Joker was bent over the sink, washing his hair under the faucet. He hummed as he scrubbed the dye out of his hair, and was amused by how the green swirled down the drain. He turned off the faucet and rapidly shook the water from his hair like a wet dog.

Bruce entered the room, clad in his Batman armor, minus the cowl, carrying a coat and towel. Slowly, he walked in, leery of the still damp floor. He watched the Joker shake his hair dry, sending droplets of water flying through the air, and shook his head. "Cut it out." He tossed him the towel.

The Joker snickered as he grabbed the towel, and proceeded to dry his hair with it. Once he was done, he pulled the towel off his head, revealing his blond hair. "Well?" He licked his lips. "Did it come out? I can't tell since you, y'know,... didn't put a mirror in here."

Admittedly, the Joker was a handsome man without all that paint and dye... Bruce caught himself staring and managed a nod. He then moved forward, and handed him the coat he was also holding. "Put this on."

The Joker did what he was told, dropping the towel to pull on the long, black trench coat. It was certainly a step up from Bruce's white button-down shirt, but he still wanted his old, colorful suit back. He soon caught on to what the trench coat was really for as he buttoned the coat all the way up to the bridge of his nose, neatly concealing his scars. Curiously, he reached into the coat pocket and, and to his delight, pulled out his make-up. "Oh, aren't you thoughtful." The Joker purred.

Even though his mouth was now covered, Bruce could tell by the glisten in the Joker's green eyes that he was happy. He could also tell that the Joker did not have many possessions, so the few he did have, he treasured. "It's my end of the bargain." He muttered as he pulled his cowl over his head. "Let's go."

Slipping the make-up back into his coat pocket, the Joker grinned at the familiar face. "After you, _Batman_..."

* * *

The city air that night was still, yet frigid, and the streets surrounding the asylum were eerily quiet. Gripping his coat closer, the Joker peered over at place he came to know as Hell from the top of an adjacent building, and frowned. He tugged on the collar of his coat, making absolutely certain that it still covered his scars, as if someone from Arkham could actually spot him in the dead of night from the top of a building.

He glanced over at Batman, who was scanning the perimeter of the asylum with a pair of binoculars, searching for the best way to sneak in. The Joker stared long and hard at the taller man. Squinted his eyes, he tried to imagine Bruce Wayne underneath all that armor, but couldn't. To him, it was almost as if Bruce Wayne and Batman were two completely different men. They _had_ to be. After all, Bruce was kind, gentle, and surprisingly patient, while Batman was cold, dark, and enjoyed hitting him. He never really gave it much thought until now, but both sides _fascinated _him.

"There." Bruce suddenly pointed to one of the windows, snapping the Joker back to reality. He reached for the side of his utility belt and pulled out his grappler gun, aimed it, and fired. The grapple sailed through the air, the rope streaming behind it like a tail, before it latched onto the ledge of the roof. There was a brief moment of hesitation before Bruce wrapped his arm around the smaller man's waist. "Hold on..."

Instinctively, the Joker's body went rigid in the other's grasp, as if he were bracing himself for pain. Years of abuse had taught his body that being touched was hardly ever a pleasant experience, and that it usually meant that someone was going to hurt him. But soon he overcame his body's natural reflex, and snaked his arms securely around Batman's torso. The second he did so, the two of them were suddenly launched through the air as the gun propelled them towards the taller building that was Arkham.

They hung in front of the window Bruce had pointed out by the thick cord of the grapple, and he felt the Joker tighten his grip around him. At first, he thought the clown was frightened, but soon disregarded that idea when he heard him omit a muffled giggle. Bruce eyed the window before them, and wondered how to go about opening it, with one arm holding onto the grapple, and the other holding onto the Joker. Slowly, he removed the arm from around the his waist, and immediately, the Joker hooked his legs around him in order to keep himself from falling. Bruce blushed under his cowl and sighed inwardly. Now he remembered why he preferred to work alone...

Pressing his sharp, clawed-finger to the window, Bruce diligently cut an opening through the glass. Carefully, he popped out the glass and it landed quietly on the carpet inside the room. Kicking lightly off the side of the building, Bruce successful swung them in through the now open window, and they landed gracefully inside what seemed to be an office.

The Joker pulled away from Batman and looked around the room. Obviously, he had never seen this part of Arkham; he only knew what the ward looked like. The room was plain and dainty, nothing particularly interesting or sinister about it, just a typical office. The Joker took a step back, allowing Batman to take the lead and do his thing. Breaking in and sneaking around weren't his forte, and if the Joker could do things his way, he would have just blown the whole place up with explosives.

Bruce strode across the room and took a seat at a computer. He wasted little time, and went straight to work on searching for the employee files. Several minutes had passed before he found what he was looking for. He clicked open the file and motioned to the clown. "Come here."

The Joker obeyed and walked over to the computer. He leaned over Batman's shoulder, blinking curiously at the monitor. On the screen was a picture of a middle-aged man he did not recognize and various information about him such as his name, job title, and the area of the ward he worked in.

Bruce slipped a small disc into the computer then turned to the Joker. "I'm going to go through these files one at a time, and you're going to tell me which are in the mob you. Understand?"

The clown nodded and looked at the first picture. He was certain he never saw that man before, so he shook his head. "Next." Batman clicked the mouse and the next file came up. The Joker examined the next picture briefly before shaking his head again. "Nope." When the next one came up, the Joker immediately uttered a low growl. "_Him._" He pointed at the middle-aged bald man on the screen.

Bruce nodded and copied the man's information onto the disc. They continued to go through the files one by one, and every once and awhile the Joker would point out another gang member, growing angrier and angrier each time he recognized them. Then suddenly, Bruce came across a face _he _recognized, and frowned.

The Joker took one look at the picture of the young, rather handsome-looking brunette, and shook his head. "Next."

Bruce turned to him, looking rather surprised at the Joker's answer. "Are you sure?" Even before he looked at the name on the file, he recognized that face as that of Dr. Jonathan Crane—_the Scarecrow_. But what the hell would that corrupt doctor be doing working in _Arkham?_

"Uh, yeah. I think I would've remembered seeing a pretty boy like him." The Joker blinked, crossing his arms over his chest. He thought a moment and frowned. "Although..."

Just then, there was a loud clamor, and both men cocked their heads towards the door in alarm. The door was violently kicked open as three men with machine guns came bursting into the room, and simultaneously began firing at the two intruders.

In a flash, Bruce grabbed the Joker and dove under the desk, dodging the gunfire. He yanked the disc out of the computer, seconds before the bullets completely tore it apart and sent bits of glass, machinery, and wood flying through the air. He glanced over at the Joker, who was leaning close against the desk, holding his head. They needed to get out of there. _Fast. _

Finally, the firing stopped, and the three men with guns slowly approached the desk to see if they had finished them off. Bruce saw that as their chance to escape. Abruptly, grabbed the Joker and shot up from behind the desk. The three immediately cursed and started open firing on them again, but this time, Bruce stood in front of the Joker, the letting bullets bounce off his thick, kevlar armor.

Bruce slowly backed up towards the window, pushing the Joker along with him. He suddenly felt a sharp, searing pain at his side, but he didn't stop, he _couldn't _stop. When they were close enough to the open window, Bruce turned around suddenly, grabbed the Joker, and dove out the window with him. Bruce held onto the smaller man tightly as they fell, closed his eyes, and was suddenly reminded of the time he did the same for Rachel....

Batman landed on his back and hit the ground loud thud. The Joker rolled out of his grasp, onto the pavement, unharmed, and immediately shot up and started to run. He flew down the street, heart racing, mind clouding, adrenaline pumping. Then suddenly, when he was halfway down the street, he stopped and turned around. Batman was still laying there on his back, right where he fell, and he wasn't moving. Biting his lip, he looked back down the street. _'Run,'_ his body screamed at him. _'Those guys will be down here soon,' _his mind tried to reason with him. But the Joker could not run away.

With an annoyed groan, he turned around and hurried back over to the fallen hero. He knelt down and shook him lightly on the shoulder. "C'mon, hurry up!"

Batman opened his eyes halfway, looked at him, then groaned and closed his eyes, slipping into unconsciousness. "Damn it, Bats!" The Joker frowned. Grumbling, he reached down, hooked his arms under Bruce's shoulders, and began dragging him backwards down an alley. "You're... _reeeeally _heavy... Maybe... I should call you 'Fatman'!" The Joker huffed and giggled to himself.

The Joker retraced their steps back to where the Bat-cycle was parked, and laid Bruce down on the ground so he could check him out. The sight of blood caught the Joker's eye, and he leaned in closer to discover a bullet that had lodged itself between the kevlar plates on Bruce's side. It didn't seem to hit any thing major, but the would was bleeding profusely. The Joker frowned. "Well that's not good..."

"Sir? Sir, are you there? Where are you?!" The Joker jumped in surprise when he heard a voice coming from Batman's belt.

The Joker spotted a small, blinking device on his utility belt. Cautiously, he picked it up and spoke into it. "Um... Hello....?" He pressed it to his ear curiously and listened.

There was a slight pause before the voice spoke again. "W-who is this? Hello?"

The clown could make out that it was an older male who had a strong British accent. "Joe." He grinned.

"Joe?" The man's voice asked.

"Joe Kerr." The Joker snickered. He couldn't resist...

The old man didn't seem to appreciate the joke, and his tone grew angry. "_You! _You monster!What have you done to Master Wayne?!"

The Joker held the communicator away from his ear as the voice shouted at him, and frowned. "He's okay... uh... well I think so anyway... Y'see he's kinda passed out at the moment..."

"If lay one finger on him, I swear I'll—"

"Oh, _relax. _I'm not gonna hurt him!" The Joker cut him off, looking down at the man before him."But, uh, _whoever_ you are, you might want to get here soon. Oh, and don't have a heart attack when I tell you this, old man, but he's been shot so hurry up."

"Shot?!" The old man yelled again, making the Joker cringe. "Bloody hell... When I find you I swear—"

The Joker pressed the button on the side of the communicator, shutting it off. He sighed in relief and placed it back onto Bruce's belt, right where he found it. He then proceeded to go through and check each compartment of the belt, until he found a roll of gauze. The Joker knew it was probably not a good idea to try and remove Batman's suit, as one of his henchmen demonstrated by getting himself electrocuted. He decided instead to wrap the bandages tightly around the armor covering his torso. It wasn't much, but it would have to do until the old guy came to pick him up.

Once he was satisfied with his patchwork, the Joker sat back and sighed. "That's the best I can do." He found himself staring at Bruce, watching his chest rise and fall as he rested. Slowly, the Joker pulled the collar of his coat down, under his chin, and carefully moved over the sleeping form. He smiled then suddenly, leaned down lower and pressed his lips firmly against Bruce's in a kiss.

He took a brief moment to savor the kiss before he pulled away, licking his scars with a grin."Sorry, Bats, but I gotta run..." And with that, he fled down the alleyway, disappearing into the night.

**To Be Continued...**

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* * *

  
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**(A/N): **Whew! So glad I finally finished this chapter! It was like every time I sat down to write there was some sort of distraction. Even now, I'm supposed to me doing a project instead of writing this, but I can't help myself; this chapter was so fun to write!

Ooo the plot thickens. Yes, that's right; I actually have a plot! I usually just make stuff up as I go along (which I still do sometimes), but this time I've got a great deal planned out in advance. Anyway, this is sort of like the turning point of the story, so things will start to get interesting for Bruce and the Joker. I'm so excited for winter break coming up just so I can devote some time to writing the next chapter (though I probably shouldn't say that; I'll probably be occupied with Christmas and stuff).

Well, that's it for now. So glad this story actually interests people and thanks again for the wonderful feedback! Keep it comin'! :D


	5. The Lovers

**Behind Insanity**

**.5.**

**The Lovers**

_**The Lovers Card **in tarot represents a union. It tells of difficult decisions, choices to be made using one's intuition and not their intellect. It is a test of commitment and the struggle between two paths..._

That night, Bruce had the same recurring dream he had dreamed for many nights now. Well, it was more of a nightmare than a dream. It was about Rachel—specifically, her death. In it, she was tied to chair, surrounded by drums of oil, a time bomb strapped to one of them. Each time, she struggled, and called out for him to help her, and each time Bruce would try and save her, but no matter how much he ran, he never seemed to get any closer to her.

This time, however, was different. This time, he was able to reach Rachel and free her from the chair. But this time, something strange happened. The moment he finished untying her, Rachel was no longer Rachel. The Joker took her place in that chair, grinning up at him. "Thanks...,_Bruce_."

Bruce's eyes snapped open abruptly, his heart racing. At once, he noticed he was out of his armor and safely tucked into his own bed. He sat up and immediately winced, a sudden pain ripping through his side.

"Easy now, Master Wayne..." Bruce turned his head to see Alfred seated beside his bed. The old butler looked as if he had been up all night watching over him. "You don't want to pop out your stitches, do you?" He asked softly.

"Stitches?" Bruce pulled the blankets off himself and saw that his torso was neatly wrapped in bandages. He frowned and rubbed his head. The last thing he remembered was jumping out that window and... Suddenly, his eyes went wide. "Alfred, what happened? Where is he?"

"When I found you, you were out cold in an alley with a poorly bandaged gunshot wound in your side. Our friend, 'Joe Kerr,' was nowhere to be found. Seems he ran off..." Alfred crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, mind telling me what you were doing last night?"

Bruce lowered his head. "The Joker told me that the mob had their men working in Arkham and that they were trying to kill him... At first, I thought he was trying to trick me, but I found that the pills he had on him were laced with cyanide... So... I decided it was worth looking into..." He placed his hand lightly over the bandages. "Turns out he wasn't lying..."

Alfred's face fell. "So, you went sneaking off in the middle of the night with our guest, an unstable, deranged serial killer, to and break into a high security facility for the criminally insane all on a _hunch?_" His tone grew more heated. "Why couldn't you have told me first? Then maybe, that looney wouldn't be free to run and raise hell!"

A wave of guilt washed over Bruce. "You're right, Alfred....I'm sorry; I should've said something to you... I just thought that maybe...," he raised his head and looked back up at his butler, "maybe I could help him..."

"Have you bloody lost your mind?" Alfred furrowed his brows. "_Help him?_ The best doctors in Arkham couldn't help him, what makes you think you can?" He could not believe such nonsense was coming from Bruce, that he actually wanted to help that monster.

"Because it's working!" Bruce gripped his side and sat further up. "You said that when you found me, I was bandaged up, but I blacked out before I even realized I was shot! Don't you get it? That means it had to have been him..." God, he felt delusional. He actually _defending _the _Joker_.

Alfred shook his head and stood up. "You _have _lost it..." He picked the remote off the nightstand beside the bed and clicked the television on. "Well, maybe this will change your mind..."

On cue, the T.V. came blasting on with: _"Last night, two Arkham guards were stabbed to death in their own homes. Both victims were found with their mouths sliced ear-to-ear, leading the Gothham police believe this to be the work of the Joker, who escaped from Arkham three days ago..."_

Bruce's jaw dropped. He recognized the pictures of the guards on the screen. Only last night had he stared at the same two faces on a computer monitor. Now, because of him, they were dead. His stomach turned, and he felt angry, ashamed, and betrayed all at once. He _trusted _the Joker, and now two men were dead. "I have to go..." Slowly, he slid out of bed, wincing.

"Sir, you mustn't! You haven't given yourself enough time to recover!" Alfred placed a hand to his shoulder, halting his progress.

"Please, Alfred." Bruce's eyes pleaded with him. "I need to fix this... I need to find him before he kills anyone else..."

Alfred sighed and let go, allowing Bruce slowly make his way towards the door. "And I hope that when you do find him, you do what needs to be done..." He muttered, thinking back to his days in Burma. He remembered walking through the forest after the fires had died out. There, he found the charred body of the thief, still clutching a handful of jewels to his breast. Death was the only way to stop a man like that.

Bruce stopped at the door and hesitated a moment, allowing Alfred's words to sink in. _'What needs to be done...' _He wondered if all else failed, would he be able to break his one rule? He hoped that it would never come to that... "I'll do... whatever it takes to stop him..." And with that, he was out the door.

* * *

"Rogers is it?" The Joker grinned, brushing his knife ever so lightly over the trembling man's cheek. He stood behind him; one hand held onto the back of the gangster's tangled hair, the other threatened him with the knife. "That makes you lucky number... _three._"

Rogers had been on edge all day after hearing that two of his co-workers at Arkham were murdered, but thought nothing when he found his apartment door unlocked. Big mistake. He tried to get a look at his assailant, but the hand gripping his hair prevented him from turning his head. "W-who are you?! What do you want?!"

"Shh-shh-shh-shh... No sense in raising your voice; no one can hear you anyway... It's just you...", he jerked the other man around, roughly, and smirked at him sinisterly, "and _me!_"

The man's eyes widened as he stared into that painted clown face as if it were the face of the devil himself. "_You!_" He gasped.

The Joker snickered cruelly at the man's fear. "Oh, you remember me! _Good..._ because I remember _you._" He licked the red-painted scars on his lips. "Yeah, I remember how you kept punching me in the stomach—_over and over again until I couldn't stand!_" He hissed through his teeth.

"Y-you're crazy! You think you can just take on the whole mob by yourself?!" The man began struggling against him. He knew it was useless to try and beg this maniac to spare his life, especially after beating him up in Arkham, but that didn't stop him from trying to reason with the monster.

"Uh... _yeah._" Suddenly the Joker stuck the knife into the gangster's mouth and pressed it against the inside of his cheek. "I'll take you all on, all at once if I have to, and I won't stop hunting your little buddies... 'till I kill every. single. _one_." In one quick motion, he sliced through the man's cheek, winning an ear-piercing shriek as he fell to the floor, gripping the side of his bloody face. The Joker jumped on top of the thrashing man, laughing manically as he stabbed him over and over again.

Finally, he stopped and stood up, panting. His skin and clothes were stained in the other man's blood, but he felt nothing, neither pride nor remorse over what he had just done. His only regret was that he got blood all over the coat which Bruce had given him. It was a shame; it was a really nice coat. Suddenly, he heard a noise and looked up to see Batman standing in the doorway.

Bruce had seen murder and death before, but he never felt this shocked since the day his parents were killed. The Joker looked positively frightening like that—standing in the dark, covered in blood, holding a dripping knife, and illuminated solely by the moonlight creeping in from the window. The two stared at each other in silence. Finally, the Joker smiled and began to say something, but was cut off by an angry growl from Bruce. "What have you done?!" He roared.

"What_ this_?" The Joker motioned to the man's body, as he cleaned the blood off his knife by wiping it onto the coat. "You should know what this is. This is _justice_. Justice is your favorite, isn't it?"

"No..." Bruce stepped closer, gritting his teeth. "No, this isn't justice, this is _vengeance!_"

Casually, the Joker shrugged and stepped over the body. "Revenge, justice... Can't they be the same thing?" He grinned.

Bruce lowered his head. He just didn't get it... It hurt that after all the mercy and kindness he showed him, the Joker still didn't get it. "Justice was throwing you in prison so you wouldn't hurt anyone again.... If I sought revenge on you for what you did to Rachel... you would be dead right now." He muttered, looking directly into the other's dark eyes.

The Joker's eyes dodged his gaze and focused down at the carpet. Nervously, he fiddled with the knife in his hand. "...Did you love her?"

The question seemed to come out of nowhere, and at first, Bruce didn't know how to answer. The fact that he didn't know how to answer frightened him. Every time he thought about Rachel, he felt sad. He always thought what things would be like if she were still alive. He did love her, there was no sense in denying that, but lately he had come to think of her less and less. "She was the only woman I ever loved... and you took her away from me."

"Heh..." The Joker sneered; he was glad he killed her then. "Then why _don't _you kill me? Don't love her enough to break your 'one rule'?"

"You know, at first, I seriously considered it." Bruce looked past the Joker, and stared at the full moon through the window. "I wanted to kill you... just like I wanted to kill my parents' murderer... But that's not what Batman is about; he's not about some personal vendetta, he's about protecting people..." He thought back to the words Rachel once said to him. "Justice is about harmony. Revenge is about making yourself feel better... I am a protector. I want to help everyone..." He looked back at the Joker. "Even you."

Those words made a shiver run down the Joker's spine. Who the hell was this man? He was dressed like Batman, but he was talking like Bruce Wayne. Moreover, he had just killed a man; why wasn't he beating his face in and hauling him back to prison? "I just don't get it... I thought I knew you, Bats, I really thought I did... How could anyone be so selfless...?" He stared even harder down at the floor.

Suddenly, the man on the floor twitched and opened his eyes. Delirious from the pain, he slowly sat up and grabbed onto the Joker's coat. He groaned, the blood dripping down his face.

The Joker's heart skipped a beat, and he whirled around in alarm. The sight of the bloody, half-dead man grabbing onto him stirred a fear so great inside him, that he screamed. The hand holding the knife flew down on its own accord and slit the man's throat. Blood jutted out from the open wound, and at last, the man fell down dead. The Joker dropped the knife, and backed away, laughing nervously. There was too much—too many emotions hitting him at once; he felt overloaded. He suddenly fell to his knees, and held his head in his hands, shaking with laughter.

Bruce didn't know how to react. It all happened so quickly, and now the Joker was having some sort of mental breakdown on the floor. Slowly, he approached the trembling form, unsure how he would react. He inched closer to him, as if he were a wounded beast, and extended his hand to him. "Come on..." He whispered.

Two dark eyes peered between bloody fingers. "Where...?" He had just killed three people; he wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he was going to sent straight back to Arkham. Oh, god... He was gonna get it.

"Back to mansion..." Bruce stared deep into those dark, hallow eyes, knowing that behind them, some small speck of humanity remained in this poor creature; he had witnessed it firsthand. He knew right then and there that he had to find the man behind the monster and set him free. It was his mission—it was Batman's greatest challenge, and all it took was a little kindness and a great deal of patience.

* * *

The Joker couldn't remember the last time he had a shower, but this one was sure this was the best one he ever had. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the shower head, allowing the spray to wash away the blood and make-up. He stood there, still, for several minutes, just savoring the feeling of hot water as it cleansed his entire body of his sins. He opened his mouth, allowing it to fill with water, then gargled and spat it down the drain. Three men were dead and no amount of soap or water could erase that. But he didn't feel bad for killing them. On the contrary, he was glad they died; they deserved it after what they did to him.

Just outside the shower door, Bruce was sitting on the toilet seat cover, waiting. He had kept his promise by sneaking the Joker back into the mansion, up to his bedroom, and into the bathroom without alerting Alfred. He felt guilty for hiding something else from his butler, but he didn't want to give the old man a heart-attack by bringing a blood-soaked murderer into their home. He sighed and held his head in his hands. He replayed the events from the last few days in his mind, and wondered if it was all worth it. Three men were dead, and Bruce couldn't help but feel responsible.

The Joker opened the glass door a bit and poked his head out to look over at him. When he saw that Bruce had his head down, he grinned and quietly slipped out from behind the glass. _'Eh hee hee hee... did he fall asleep?' _He wondered as he slowly crept towards him, dripping water across the floor. Once he was close enough, he noticed that Bruce was very much awake and appeared to be very stressed. "What's the matter with you?" He tilted his head.

Bruce jumped a little in surprise, and looked up at him. He blushed and quickly looked away. That's twice he'd seen the Joker naked... He grabbed a towel from the counter and held it out for him with a frown. "You planned this whole thing from the start, didn't you?"

The Joker giggled at his blush and used the towel to dry his hair. "Oh, I don't plan anything. I just... go with the flow." He grinned as he wrapped the towel around his waist. "You gave me the names of my oppressors; what did you expect? That I was just gonna sit back and let _you _handle it? You've got _nothing_ on them, and even if you did, with the mob in control they'd get out of jail within the year."

Bruce shot up suddenly, glaring down at him. "Alright, so it is my fault. Maybe I shouldn't have brought you here. Maybe I shouldn't have believed you." He went on, his voice becoming louder, more aggressive. "Maybe I should've just turned you back into Arkham, and have the mob serve you up some more of that poison! ...But I didn't; I was a fool. I brought you here, fed you, clothed you....and, for a moment there, I _trusted _you..."

Suddenly, the Joker grew very silent. He realized he could very well be dead right now if it had not been for Bruce's mercy. Not only did he take him in, Bruce also _protected _him. He even _jumped _out a _window _for him. He frowned and lowered his head. "_Maybe_...you should have..." He muttered.

Now _that _really pissed Bruce off. It was clear to him that the Joker truly didn't appreciate _anything _he had done for him. He felt like a fool for believing that, just because he slapped a few bandages on his wounds in the alley before running off, the Joker actually felt gratitude towards him_._ "In that case, maybe I _will!_" he snapped back, "Go ahead—tell everyone I'm Batman. I'd rather deal with the press and police than one more day with you." He grumbled as he turned his back to him, and began walking towards the door. But before he could get so far as to grasp the door knob, the Joker suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, and kissed him hard on the lips.

Bruce was shocked, _utterly_ shocked. He wanted to pull away, to punch the Joker in the face, but he didn't—he couldn't. It was as if his brain shut down and his body was frozen. The Joker, his mortal enemy, was actually pressing his scarred lips against his—_kissing_ him; he just didn't know how to react to this. Before he could think too much into it, the Joker snapped him back to reality by biting down on his bottom lip. Bruce mentally cursed and pulled back, tasting his own blood.

"Don't think you can get rid of me that easily, Bru**_ce_** Way**_ne_**." The Joker glared at him, wickedly licking the blood from his lips. Despite his glare, he was quite pleased with himself.

Bruce matched his glare, and wrapped his arms around the Joker's naked waist, pulling him flush against his body. He gave a low growl before suddenly crushing their lips together. The Joker's fingers clawed into Bruce's shoulders as he eagerly returned the kiss with equal force.

Bruce was no stranger to kisses, but _this _was obviously very different. Not only was he kissing his man, but he was kissing his mortal enemy,who was biting and clawing at him. Both of them struggled to gain control over the kiss, nipping and biting each other's lips. Eventually, the Joker gave in a little, allowing Bruce's tongue to enter his mouth. Bruce deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down the Joker's slender waist until they reached the towel. He grabbed it and yanked it off in one swift movement.

The Joker shuddered in excitement, and he pressed his now fully exposed body against Bruce's clothed one. He uttered a soft groan, and rubbed his aching arousal against the other man's thigh. Suddenly, he was shoved backwards against the wall, and found himself pinned between it and Bruce's body.

"Is this what you wanted?" Bruce half-muttered, as he ground his hips against the Joker's, winning a throaty moan from the smaller man.

"Mm, _Yeah..._" The Joker purred as he reached out to start undoing the buttons of Bruce's shirt. The task that soon became too tedious for him, and he resorted to tearing the shirt open the rest of the way. Eager hands traveled down Bruce's newly exposed chest, feeling the well-toned muscles underneath the skin. He noted the re-bandaged wound on his side from the night before. _'Heh heh heh...My hero...' _The Joker mused and leaned in close to him, pressing his lips tenderly against Bruce's neck, before abruptly sinking his teeth into the delicate flesh.

Bruce winced. The bite didn't break the skin, but it was damn close. In retaliation, he reached between them and wrapped his hand around the Joker's erection. At once, the Joker released his neck, and hissed through his teeth in pleasure as Bruce began stroking his cock. His large hand slid up and down his shaft, pumping him slowly.

Gasping, the Joker wrapped his arms around his neck, and thrusted his hips up against Bruce's hand. His breath grew ragged as Bruce quickened his ministrations, pleasure building up inside of him. It didn't take long before he moaned loudly, and bucked into his hand one last time. His nails dug deep into the back of Bruce's neck as he came in his hand. Panting, the Joker let go of Bruce, and sank against the wall until he was on the floor, legs spread.

Breathing heavily, Bruce reached down and undid his pants, freeing his own erection, before he sat down on the floor in front of the Joker. He knelt between the Joker's legs and kissed him deeply. Again, teeth sank into Bruce's tender lip, drawing more blood. The Joker loved pain—both inflicting and receiving it—and wished Bruce would finally snap and to hurt him back.

But Bruce resisted. Instead, he ignored the rusty taste of blood, and slipped his tongue between the Joker's lips, exploring his hot mouth. While he was distracted by the kiss, Bruce slipped his dirtied hand between them and pressed a single, cum-slicked finger past the tight ring of muscles, into his entrance.

The Joker gasped at the sudden intrusion, and pressed his lips to Bruce's ear, growling. "You don't have to do that... Just fuck me already. _I can take it_."

"I know you can." Bruce muttered as he gently added a second finger, stretching his opening as he slid them both in and out of his entrance almost painfully slow, as if to mock the Joker's eagerness.

"Mmph..." The Joker bit his own lip. He wished Bruce would just stick his cock in and ravish him already; it was pure torture for him to be prepared so carefully. Finally, Bruce pushed his third finger into him deeply. The Joker's breathe hitched in his throat as he felt him brush against his prostate. He shuddered, and ground down against his digits, as they pushed in and out of him. Just as he was beginning to enjoy it, the fingers were suddenly gone. Before the he could complain, he felt the tip of Bruce's erection against throbbing against his entrance. His breathing halted, and his body shook with anticipation as he stared into Bruce's eyes.

Bruce held his hips as he slowly guided his cock into him. Once he was fully inside, he took a moment to savor the warm, tight feeling around him before he pulled out and thrusted back in.

The Joker moaned and tossed his head back, cursing loudly as Bruce pushed in and out of him. Though it didn't hurt nearly as much as he would have liked it to, it did feel incredibly good to finally have the other man inside of him. His back suddenly arched off the floor tiles as Bruce drove into him harder, hitting his sweet spot. His legs wrapped tightly around Bruce's waist, trying to pull him in deeper.

Each time Bruce entered him, the Joker's hips rolled up to meet him. Even when Bruce quickened the pace, he kept up, their bodies moving in unison. As he buried deeper into him, Bruce reached down and grabbed the Joker's neglected arousal, pumping it in time with his thrusts.

The stimulation of both his anus and cock was just too much for the Joker to bare, and he tossed his head from side to side on the cold floor. His cry of pleasure as he came was muffled by Bruce's mouth as he was kissed. His orgasm caused his muscles to spasm and clench around Bruce, and he groaned deep in his throat as he spilt inside the Joker with last deep thrust.

Slowly, Bruce pulled out and collapsed beside him on the floor, exhausted. The cold tiles felt good on his sweaty body, and he laid there for awhile panting. With the adrenaline starting to leave him, and his senses finally returning, Bruce noticed the stinging sensation in his side. He looked down and saw that his bandage was soaked red with blood, which probably meant his stitches must have popped out. He heard snickering, and turned his head towards the Joker.

The Joker rolled over onto his side to face Bruce, panting and chuckling at the same time. "If...heh heh heh... If tomorrow morning, I wake up in Arkham, I'm gonna... ah hah hah hah... hunt you down..." He closed his eyes.

Bruce sighed as he watched him fall asleep on the floor. He knew at some point, a tremendous guilt would wash over him for what he had just done, but for now, he had to clean up and get them both to bed.

**To Be Continued...**

**

* * *

(A/N):** WHEW! That took a long time to write, partially due to holiday commitments.... Okay, actually, mostly due to holiday commitments. I had a lot of them! But everything paid off because I got the Dark Knight Special Edition DVD! (the thing I wanted most for Christmas -loser-)

So, it seems Bruce has finally lost control.... or has he? -snickers- Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it was a real pain to write. I had to re-write the bathroom scene literally five times until I was finally satisfied with it. I'll probably get more in depth with Bruce and Joker's feelings (ha ha ha if any) next chapter, as this one was much an explosion (hehehe...explosion...) of lust.

Anyway, Happy Years everyone! Thank you all for being so patient!


	6. The Star

**Behind Insanity**

**.6.**

**The Star**

_**The Star Card **represents faith, feelings of great expectations, and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. It is a moment of tranquility, a period of calm, and a time for returning favors..._

The Joker's eyes snapped open, and he awoke to find himself in very alien surroundings. He was laying nude under a warm blanket, on what could very well be the softest mattress in the whole world. He sat up slowly, his eyes curiously studying the neat, well embellished room before they came to rest on the sleeping man beside him. A grin crept across his face as the memories from last night flooded back into his mind.

The whole thing was rather hard for even him to believe. Bruce—the _Batman_ had had sex with him, and done so _willingly. _The Joker would have thought the whole thing was a dream if he wasn't still sore from it. He bit back a giggle as he leaned closer to Bruce, observing him as he slept peacefully and tried to think of an interesting and funny way to wake him. Then suddenly, he came to the realization that, with Bruce asleep, there was no one stopping him from exploring the Wayne Mansion. His grin widened at the thought of being able to run around the giant house and touch everything like a toddler in an antique store with no one to stop him.

Quietly, he slipped out of the large bed and scouted the room out again. He walked over to Bruce's dresser, opening it slowly, and grabbed the first pair of pants he saw and a belt to keep them from falling off his slender hips. He then looked on top of the dresser, spotting several picture frames. Most of them were of this handsome man, his beautiful blond-haired wife, and a little boy, all smiling and laughing—looking like the ideal, happy family. There was one picture, however, that caught his eye. It was of the little boy again, slightly older, standing beside an older-looking man who had his hand on his shoulder. They were both standing on the steps of the mansion, dressed in black, with hints of sadness in their eyes. Curiously, the Joker reached out to grab it, and accidentally knocked it over. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see the noise woke Bruce up. Nothing; he barely even stirred. Even still, the Joker took that as his cue to leave the bedroom.

Barefoot and shirtless, he snuck out of the room and down the hallway, poking his head through some of the rooms as he went by. Using what little he remembered from last night of Bruce leading him into the mansion and up to his bathroom, the Joker eventually managed to backtrack his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He hadn't had a bite to eat since that sandwich two days ago, and was beginning to grow sick with hunger.

Stepping into the kitchen, the Joker immediately started rummaging through the drawers, at this point not caring how much noise he made, until he found the knife drawer. Jack pot. Knives were more valuable than gold to the Joker, and without at least one on his person at all times, he felt as though he were missing a limb. He carefully picked out the sharpest looking one, stainless steal of course, and slid it into his back pocket for safekeeping.

Now armed, he finally zoned in on the fridge. He opened it and peered inside for anything appetizing, then suddenly frowned. Even though the fridge itself was huge, all that was inside was two cartons of eggs, a gallon of low fat milk, a few packages of cold cuts, orange juice, grapefruit juice, tomato juice, whole wheat bread, and some protein shakes. The Joker clicked his tongue. All health food; no wonder Bruce was in such great shape. He shook his head and leaned into the needlessly oversized fridge, grabbed the cold cuts and began shoving slices of ham and turkey into his mouth. He then grabbed the carton of tomato juice and began drinking it straight from the bottle. Red juice messily dribbled down his chin and down his naked chest.

"...Master Wayne?"

The Joker suddenly paused, hearing a familiar voice. Slowly, he poked his head out from behind the fridge door, hand sliding into his back pocket to grip the hilt of the kitchen knife. Standing at the entrance to the kitchen was an old man, the same one from the photograph upstairs, except his was whiter and his skin was more wrinkly. The Joker just stared at him for a moment, surprised to see another human being other than Bruce in the mansion.

Without the painted face, at first, Alfred didn't recognize the strange young man standing before him who had been raiding their fridge. But it didn't take long before his old eyes recognized the strange markings on the man's cheeks were scars. His eyes widened in alarm.

Wiping the juice from his chin, the Joker smirked, taking a few steps towards him. _'Oh, a playmate...' _"And who... _**prey **_tell are you?"

Alfred stood his ground even as the monster approached him. "_You..._ What have you done?" He asked in a soft, but stern voice eying the crimson liquid smeared all over the killer's mouth.

The question made the Joker chuckle. "_...Nothin'._" He grinned, pulling the kitchen knife from his pocket, and tossed it back and forth from one hand to the other in a threatening matter. "Hm... _Oh! _I know that voice. _You _must be the old stiff I talked to a few nights ago... the one who kept threatening me." He licked his lips. "Hey listen, wanna know how I got these scars?"

"_**Joker**!_"

The Joker heard Bruce's voice rumble from the other side of the kitchen, and quickly spun around, hiding the knife behind his back. "Heh heh heh... good morning, Brucey.... sleep well?" He grinned innocently.

Bruce wore a turtleneck sweater to hide the scratches from last night. There was still a cut on his lip from the Joker biting it, but it didn't really look like a bite mark so he didn't worry too much about it. Glaring, he stalked across the kitchen towards the Joker. "Drop the knife." He ordered with a frown.

"Hmph. Lighten up, Brucey." The Joker raised his hands, and to Alfred's surprise, obediently let the knife slip from his grasp and plummet to the floor with a loud clang. "I wasn't _really _going to do anything to him... _probably_."

Bruce did not seem amused by this. He spoke slowly, in a very low voice, "Alfred is my butler, my oldest, most trust worthy friend, and the only family I have left. If you _ever _so much as threaten him again, you'll regret it."

"Will I now?" The Joker flashed him a mischievous look.

Bruce dodged the look and instead turned to the butler. "Alfred, we need to talk...," he glanced at the Joker from the corner of his eye, "_alone._"

"I should hope so, sir." Alfred frowned. He seemed pretty upset, and for good reason. The last thing he expected to find this morning was a shirtless Joker stealing all their food from the refrigerator. With a sigh, he followed Bruce out of the kitchen. "Alright, there better be a pretty damn good explanation for _this._" He motioned his head towards the Joker, who was going through all the cabinets in search of better food.

"Alfred..." Bruce began, trying to gather his thoughts as he spoke, "...he's been beaten, arrested, and threatened, and so far none of that has worked. Brute force doesn't work on a guy like him, in fact, it's been making him _worse._" He watched as the Joker pulled a box of crackers off one of the shelves and began shoveling handfuls of them into his mouth. "I want to try a different approach..."

Alfred furrowed his brows and crossed his arms over his chest. "I read the paper this morning... another guard was killed last night... Bruce, how many more people have to die before you realize that this man cannot be helped?"

Bruce lowered his head. He still felt responsible for those murders, and was beginning to second guess himself again. _'Why do you want to help him so much?' _He thought as he glanced back at the Joker, who was licking crumbs off his fingers. _'Because of some sick obsession?' _The Joker set the box down and returned to the fridge. He grabbed one of Bruce's protein shakes, examined it closely, opened it, and sniffed it before he curiously took a sip. '_Because you don't have the guts to kill him?' _The clown grimaced and stuck his tongue out in disgust. He looked both ways before sneaking the can back into the fridge. _'No... That's why... I want to help him because...''_

"Alfred...." Bruce looked back up at him with a sudden, new found confidence. "What I was like after my parents died?"

Alfred blinked, surprised at the question. "Quiet, withdrawn, angry with the world, and specifically with the man who took your parents away from you. Before Joe Chill was assassinated, you were completely obsessed with revenge. Don't mind me asking, but what's that got to do with anything, sir?"

Bruce lowered his voice. "...I never told you this before... and to be honest, I'm still ashamed of it... but on the day I went to Chill's trial... I....I had a gun in my pocket..."

"You**_what_?**!" Alfred's raised his voice, his eyes widening in shock. Across the kitchen, the Joker heard the outburst, and turned his head towards them with a puzzled look.

Bruce continued in a whisper, "I was going to kill him myself, but Falcone's man beat me to it...When Rachel found out she told me that my father would have been ashamed of me. She told me... to look beyond my own pain, that I just was a coward with a gun, and that justice is about more than revenge. Those words inspired me... to become the man I am today..."

The old butler shook his head again, trying to take it all in at once. "I can't believe that you..."

Bruce sighed. "Alfred... if my parents' murderer hadn't been assassinated... if Rachel hadn't have set me straight... if I didn't have you around to guide me... What kind of man would I have become?"

"Like... him?" The butler motioned to the Joker, who was now drinking from the carton of orange juice. "Don't tell me you actually see yourself in him..." He thought living with a crime-fighting vigilante was hard enough, he could not imagine living with a _murderer_.

"Listen... All I'm saying is that I don't know why he is the way he is, but obviously he's got a lot of skeletons in his closet. I'd bet my fortune that he's been through much worse than I have, but without someone like you or Rachel to help him through it." He placed his hand on Alfred's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Look, I'm not asking you to feel sorry for him or anything... I'll ask I for is a little time. If we don't see any improvement in the next week or so, I'll admit I'm just acting foolish and turn him back into Arkham... after I clean it up."

For the life of him, Alfred still could not understand why Bruce was so intent on defending the maniac. Though he did bring up some pretty good points, it all seemed so unlike Bruce to forgive such a deranged killer so easily. "...You really think you can help him?"

"He trusts me. He knows that I won't kill him or turn him in, and he won't leave here because, even though he won't admit it, he's _afraid _of the mob."

Alfred thought it over a moment. The Joker _did _listen to Bruce when he dropped the knife instead of holding him hostage. Maybe this was actually crazy enough to work. "Alright... I'll give you the benefit of the doubt... but I still think you've completely lost your mind." He smiled faintly.

"Good enough." Bruce smiled back and nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, Alfred. I won't disappoint you."

As Bruce turned to head back into the kitchen, Alfred suddenly remembered something. "Sir, I know this isn't a very appropriate time to bring this up—I'm sure you've got enough things to worry about this moment, but I just thought I should remind you that the Gotham General Hospital Fundraiser is coming up this week..."

Bruce winced. "Don't suppose we can postpone that, can we?" Gotham General was the hospital the Joker_ blew up._ No one was killed in the explosion, but it still didn't sit right with Bruce to host a fundraiser while he was keeping the man responsible in his home.

"No we cannot."

Bruce nodded and sighed. "Of course not," he mumbled. "Alright, I can't worry about that right now. I have to have a talk with _him _now," he said before he entered the kitchen. He walked over to the Joker, frowning as he swallowed the last of the orange juice. "Use a glass next time."

The Joker licked his lips and smirked. "What's the matter, afraid of my germs?"

"No, but Alfred probably is." Bruce muttered as he took the carton away from him and tossed it in the garbage. Suddenly, he winced and held his side in pain. "I need talk to you upstairs... Follow me." Slowly, he headed out of the kitchen, mentally cursing himself with each step he took. _'Not good...'_

The Joker tilted his head as Bruce walked out of the kitchen. He followed after him, shooting Alfred a devilish grin from across the kitchen as he passed by. Once they were upstairs, and safely back in Bruce's room, the Joker jumped onto the bed and stretched out on it as if he owned it. "So, tell me... how did it go?"

"How did what go?" Bruce asked absentmindedly as he went into his closet and pulled out a first-aid kit.

"Your chat with the butler...," The Joker replied, though he now cared more about what Bruce was doing, rather than what the old butler had to say about him. When Bruce turned around, and started back toward the bed, the Joker noticed a rather large, dark stain forming on his sweater.

Bruce sat down on the side of the bed, his back facing the other. "Good I guess," he winced, "I convinced Alfred to let you stay in the mansion..." Slowly, he pulled off his sweater, revealing a blood-soaked bandage he had wrapped around his wound last night as a temporary fix. Between... everything that happened last night, cleaning up the bathroom, and carrying the Joker to bed, Bruce was far too tired to stitch the wound back up, and made the mistake of putting it off till morning. _'My own fault...'_

The first thing that caught the Joker's eyes were the long red scratches that ran down Bruce's neck, shoulders, and upper back. Then, he noticed the wound that was not inflicted by him and frowned. He remembered that night, how Batman had stood between him and a hail of gunfire. Though his armor managed to deflect most of the bullets, one was able to sneak in between the plates; it was a miracle he hadn't been killed or seriously injured. "Why'd you do that?" The Joker found himself asking out loud. He slid off the bed, and circled around the bed so that he was standing in front of Bruce.

"I thought it would be better than locking you up in the cave... You don't seem to like cold, dark, enclosed spaces..." Bruce mumbled as he unwound the dirty bandages from his torso, revealing the bloody gash. He then opened the kit, and began carefully trying to thread a needle with sutures. But every time he tried, his hands would shake, making him miss the needle hole.

The Joker shook his head, eying the newly exposed wound. "No, I mean...why did you—_Oh will you just let me do it already?!_" He grumbled as he watched Bruce struggle to thread the impatient, he reached out and snatched the needle out of his hands, and threaded it on the first try with ease. "Ta-da! I may not be able to fight or fly around like you do, but at least I can thread a damn needle..."

Bruce chuckled and shook his head. "Alright, alright, you beat me there. Now, can I have it back before I bleed to death?" He held his hand out, waiting.

"I want to do it." The Joker suddenly frowned.

"What?" Bruce blinked in disbelief. "Do you even know how?"

The Joker started giggling. "C'mon, do I look like the kind of guy who goes to the hospital every time he gets scuffed up? You should know that me and hospitals don't mix very well." He reached into the kit and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic, to help stop the bleeding, and poured it onto a small cloth. "I've stitched myself up lots of times! I know what I'm doing.... probably more than you do." He grinned as he pressed the dampened cloth to the open wound.

Bruce winced at the sting. He knew that maybe this wasn't such a good idea to allow a psychotic serial killer stitch up his wounds, but he knew that the Joker wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Instead, he sighed and braced himself for the horrible pain that was sure to come. "Just be careful... and don't forget to disinfect the needle..."

"I know, I know." The Joker rolled his eyes and grabbed small bottle of rubbing alcohol. Messily, he doused the needle and thread with it before he knelt down on the floor between Bruce's legs. Lightly, he placed his middle and index fingers on both sides of the wound, carefully aligning the skin, as if it were fabric, before he slowly began meticulously stitching him up. '_Hm... if only I brought my nurse outfit,'_ he mused.

Surprisingly, it didn't hurt nearly as much as Bruce expected it to. For a guy who got off on inflicting pain on others, the Joker certainly had a delicate touch when he wanted to. Bruce relaxed a little, leaning back slightly. He looked down at the Joker, observing him as he worked and blushed, trying to ignore the suggestive position they were in.

"So," The Joker looked up at him when he was almost finished, "just how much does ol' Al, the but_ler, _know about what happened last night, _hm?_"

Bruce frowned suddenly, and looked away. He had been trying to push that thought out of his mind all morning. "I'd rather not talk about last night...—_**OW!**_" He cringed when he felt the Joker abruptly stab the needle into him

"_Why not?_" The Joker glared up at him, growling as he painfully twisted the needle around inside his wound. His lips twitched into a cruel smirk. "Oh I get it... You just don't want to admit that you _finally _lost control and fucked me. That's it, isn't it? ..._**Isn't it!?**_" When there was no rely, he suddenly yanked the the needle out of him, and cleaned the blood off with his tongue, all while keeping eye contact with Bruce.

Bruce tensed at the pain when the needle was ripped from him, but made no effort to move. He honestly didn't know what exactly came over him last night. He felt confused and sick with guilt every time he thought about it. "Joker, I don't**. **want**.** to talk about it right now." He met the Joker's gaze, frowning. "I don't know why... that happened last night... I need more time to think it over..."

"_HA!_" The Joker laughed in his face. "You're only saying that because you can't come up with an _excuse._" He placed his hands on Bruce's thighs, grinning madly up at him. "You're a pervert—a sexual deviant. Sickos like me turn you on; Face it, Brucey, you _want _me;... So, in a way, that makes you worse than I am—"

"_**Shut up!**_" Bruce snarled and shoved him away.

The Joker began giggling madly, and moved between his legs again. "Oooo—Did I hit a nerve? _Hm?_" With a smirk, he suddenly grabbed Bruce's groin, and began stroking him through his pants. "Don't believe me? I'll prove it to you..." He purred.

Bruce blushed and tried to push him off again, but it was too late; there was already a bulge forming in his pants. "S-stop it! I'm warning you!" He growled as the Joker unzipped his fly.

"You're _warning _me?" He laughed spitefully. "What are you gonna do, Brucey? Hit me? Go ahead! If you really want to stop me, then _hit me, _beat me up, make me _**bleed**_," the Joker purred again as he pulled his erection out of his pants and squeezed.

"I won't." Bruce shuddered in pleasure at his touch, his arousal pulsing in the other man's grasp. Once again, he found himself unable to stop things before they got out of hand, but still able resist hurting the Joker. "I'm not like you; I don't get off on hurting others..." He muttered and turned his head away, avoiding the lustful look the Joker was giving him.

"You're _just_ like me," The Joker corrected with a playful smirk, "except that _I_ admit that I'm a freak and _embrace_ it." He moved lower, his hand still firmly gripping his shaft. "Maybe you outta lighten up and try it some time," he added before running his tongue along his cock from base to tip. Bruce groaned as the Joker's hot mouth suddenly engulfed his entire length, sucking hard. The Joker gripped his thighs, digging his fingers into the fabric of his pants as bobbed his head up and down, his tongue rubbing against his dick.

Panting, Bruce ran his fingers through his wavy hair, tugging gently, while his other hand gripped the bed sheets. He abandoned all ideas of fighting back, and let himself enjoy the feeling of the Joker sucking him off. He bucked his hips into the Joker's mouth, feeling the knot in his lower stomach tighten. The man below him didn't even gag, even when his cock hit the back of his throat, as though he were used to this. Moaning, the Joker reached under his balls and cupped them, messaging them in his hand. Bruce's head tilted back, a hoarse cry escaping his lips as he hit his peak. He thrusted his hips as he came, spilling his hot seed into the Joker's awaiting mouth.

The Joker swallowed hard, making sure not to miss a drop, then pulled away, licking his lips. Smirking, he climbed up into Bruce's lap and kissed him on the lips. Bruce returned the kiss, tasting his own essence as he forced his tongue into his mouth. The two of them moaned into each other's mouths, their tongues meshing together.

Bruce broke the kiss, and began kissing his way up the Joker's neck, jaw, cheek, stopping when he reached his scars. He lingered for a moment, recalling how horrifying those scars seemed when he first saw them, but he didn't seem to mind them as much now. In fact, Bruce found them almost _beautiful_ in a haunting sort of way. Slowly, he pressed his lips tenderly against the jagged skin.

Eyes widening, the Joker quickly drew his head back in alarm when Bruce kissed the hypersensitive scar tissue. The gesture both startled and frightened him, and even the Joker didn't know why. Perhaps it was because he wasn't used to such tenderness, especially there of all places. He frowned and tried to shift off his lap.

Before he could get up, Bruce placed a hand on his hip, steadying him. "What happened? ...Who did this to you?" He whispered, placing a hand softly to his cheek.

The Joker winced, as if he had been slapped, and turned his head away. "Why the sudden interest?" He growled lowly. "As I recall, I offered to tell you once before, but you didn't feel like listening."

"You were going to blow up two ferries filled with people!" Bruce furrowed his brows.

"Your loss." The Joker shrugged nonchalantly.

Bruce sighed and let go of him. "Fine. Don't tell me..." It became very apparent to him at that moment that he still had a long way to go before he fully won the Joker's trust. Not like he expected it to be an easy task in the first place...

The Joker could sense his disappointment, and he frowned, placing his hands on both sides of Bruce's face. "Cheer up, Brucey..." He suddenly slipped his thumbs into Bruce's mouth, and pulled the man's lips up so it looked as though he was smiling. "It was a joke so cheer up and _smile!_" He began giggling uncontrollably at the face he forced Bruce to make before he released him. "Ehehehehe... but seriously," he said as he started to calm down, "I'll tell you some other time. Wouldn't want to spoil the moo_**d**_." The only time the Joker ever brought up the origin of his scars was when he was about to make a particularly gruesome kill, like what he did to Gambol, what he was going to do to Rachel, the two ferries, and even to Alfred a few moments ago if he rubbed him the wrong way. Whether it was just a nonsensical habit, or his own little way of coping with his past, that memory was just enough to make him more sadistic than usual, so naturally, it didn't sit right with him to bring it up to someone he had no intention of hurting.

"No, I... suppose we wouldn't." Bruce sat there, dumbfounded and rubbing his cheek. _'He sure dodged that one...' _He could tell by the way the Joker was acting that the subject really bothered him, and so he decided to just let it go for now.

After a moment of awkward silence, the Joker wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck and smirked. "So, Brucey... what do you intend on doing with me, hm?"

"Well, I could show you to your new room..." Bruce muttered.

The Joker arched his brow; obviously not the answer he was expecting. "Is it a room or is it another storage room?" He grumbled, sliding off his lap.

"Don't worry," Bruce reassured with a slight smile, "you'll like it."

**To Be Continued...**

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(A/N): **Holy crap, six chapters already and I'm still alive... I must really love this pairing~ Heh, sorry if this chapter is a bit less eventful than other chapters, but I thought it was important to include some lengthy conversations, especially between Bruce and Alfred. There was an awful lot of chitchat in this one, but I hope you all still enjoyed it :)

By the way, nothing says I love you more than stitching up someone's wounds then jabbing a needle into said wound when they refuse to talk about the hot bathroom sex you had the night before :D

Anyway, as usual, your feedback is adored and appreciated!


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